Crossfire
by Mijan
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy are on top of the world at the academy until it all comes crashing down around them. Possible murder, conspiracy... and Jim might still be a target. With a dangerous criminal on the loose and Academy leadership not doing enough, Jim and Bones have to get their lives back together and find out what happened before it happens again.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES**: This story is part of my Academy-era story arc, which includes "Convergence" (which is the prequel to the main trilogy) and "And All the King's Men," which is the first story of the actual Academy trilogy. Both of those stories are complete, and are already posted on my profile. "Crossfire" is the next story in that series, and there's one more to come. Although you could jump into this story and follow it just fine without reading the other fics, several things in this story will not make sense unless you've read at least AAtKM first. I'd really recommend reading the others first.

"Crossfire" is COMPLETE. Yes, the whole thing is written and beta'd and ready to post. I'll be posting a chapter every couple of days until the whole thing is up. It's approximately 140K words long. Aaaand... I've just about finished writing the fic that comes after "Crossfire." The title of that one is "The Needs of the Few." I'll start posting that one as soon as "Crossfire" is up.

Anyway, this is a fic that ate my brain while I was writing it. It swallowed several months of my life, where I thought about nothing else, and took every spare minute to write, edit, re-write, write again, and finally come up with something that I was proud to post. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. And if you like what you read, I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to let me know. It really makes my day.

.&.

**Chapter 1**

.&.

"Bones!"

That was Jim Kirk's voice. Unmistakable. And if Leonard kept his eyes closed and didn't move, perhaps that voice and the body producing it would go away.

"Hey, you awake?" Jim's shuffling footsteps came closer. "Lights."

Leonard's eyelids weren't quite thick enough to keep the light from penetrating them – he flinched sharply. Why the hell had he given Jim the pass code to his dorm room?

"I saw that. C'mon!"

That's right - he'd surrendered the pass code because Jim would have figured it out anyway, pain in the ass genius that he was. Pressing his face into his pillow, Leonard groaned, "Dammit, Jim, it's the middle of the night! I have clinic duty at Starfleet Medical in the morning!"

"I know, but while you're busy treating skinned knees over there, I'm going to be piloting my first shuttlecraft beyond Earth's orbit."

"And this concerns me why?" He turned his face away from the source of his annoyance and pulled the blanket up over his head.

The edge of the bed dipped as Jim sat on it, oblivious as usual about personal space. "Because I want you to watch. On the flight recorder feed."

Under his blanket, Leonard squeezed his eyes shut just a bit tighter and pressed his lips together, just barely biting back the sarcastic retort that the seemingly childish request deserved at this ludicrous hour of the morning. Immediately, the retort was replaced by a faint ache in his chest that he'd never admit to God himself without at least seven rounds of really good bourbon… and even then, probably not. This was a side of Jim Kirk that nobody else ever saw, and one that nobody could understand if they didn't know Jim the way he did. Jim liked to pretend that he didn't need anyone: he stood on his own, nothing could break him, and he had the scant emotional support he needed wrapped up in his own self-confidence. That's what the world saw. Leonard knew better.

Opening his eyes, he rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. "Jim, I can't. I'm sorry, but I'm working at Starfleet Medical now. It's not like the Academy infirmary. I'm being evaluated constantly, I'm leading a research team, and my posting after graduation depends on it."

Jim's face fell. Well, no, he actually grinned and punched Leonard lightly on the arm. "That's my Doctor Bones, with all the big responsibilities now."

Leonard saw past it. He could read Jim like a tricorder, even as the kid clucked at him with not-so-mock-approval. "Jim," he growled lightly.

"And I know you want a planetside posting," Jim continued as if he hadn't heard him, "but you'll need to get some space experience so you can be my CMO when I've got a ship of my own."

If Leonard didn't know better, he would have thought the comment was made in jest, but this was Jim, and he _knew_ Jim. The kid meant every word of it. Just like Jim knew there was no easy way for Leonard to respond to that. Having no decent answer to give, Leonard rolled his eyes and dropped back down onto his pillow with a groan of surrender. "How about _you _get the space experience, and I'll send you a weekly communiqué to make sure you're eating your vegetables."

"Bones..."

"Fuck it!" He lurched sideways and sat up, leaning heavily on one hand, so he could look Jim in the eye. "Listen, I'm taking the mandatory Basic Spacecraft Piloting and Engineering course this semester. Next month, we start working on the actual shuttlecrafts. Even medical folk learn to pilot the damned things so we can pick up the reckless space cowboys who get themselves mangled doing whatever crazy things you people do." He pointedly ignored the slightly stung expression on Jim's face. "So don't worry, I'll get my space experience eventually. But right now, I'd like to get some _sleep_, without having nightmares about explosive decompression and shuttle crashes." With that, he flopped back down as he grabbed his extra pillow and dropped it over his face, blessedly blocking out the overhead light.

"Thanks for that mental image, Bones." Jim pulled back the corner of the pillow... just far enough so that Leonard couldn't avoid eye contact. "Ya know, it's just what I needed before going out on my first real extra-orbital training mission."

"You're welcome, you brat." He grabbed the pillow out of Jim's hand. "Nothing like a bit of realism to keep you from getting complacent. And when something goes wrong on that flying death trap of a tin can and you crash your sorry ass, don't come crying to me. Do you know how long it takes for human blood to boil in a vacuum?"

"Thirteen seconds," Jim said smartly as he stood upright and stepped back from the bed. Why did he have to sound so goddamned careless when he said that?

Leonard snorted. "Oh good, you've finally learned something from me. Now shut up and let me go back to sleep!"

"I appreciate the heartfelt wish of good luck and the affectionate send-off, Bones," he shot back lightly as he sauntered back towards the door. "Make sure you watch the training mission. I already patched the transmission from the flight recorder directly to your PADD. You know, if you have time to watch it between fixing sprained ankles and treating headaches."

With a sigh and a groan, Leonard launched his spare pillow at Jim's retreating form, hitting him in the back of the head.

"Thanks, Bones!" The pillow fell to the floor with a soft thud as the door slid shut.

Leonard shook his head to himself in the empty room. Jim had hacked his PADD again, but he was used to it by now. How Jim Kirk had so thoroughly entrenched himself into Leonard's life was too complicated to quite understand, but as much as the kid drove him nuts, he wouldn't trade it for the world. Besides, Jim had saved his life once. Of course, if it hadn't been for Jim, he wouldn't have almost died in the first place, but hell, who was keeping score?

A bemused grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Good luck, Jim," he muttered to himself, letting just a bit of affection seep through his irritation. Then, punching his pillow back into shape, he rolled onto his side, calling out, "Lights off."

.&.

Geosynchronous orbit, Jim decided, must be the most peaceful state of existence in the universe. Two hundred years ago, he wouldn't have had the luxury of artificial gravity, which meant he would have been treated to the exhilarating sensation of perpetual freefall, but this wasn't bad either. Surrounded by the stillness, he gave himself a moment to watch Earth floating in the blackness of space as the sun behind the shuttlecraft cast the rays of morning on San Francisco, 35,786 kilometers below. It seemed like something sacred, if such a thing existed. His only regret was that he didn't have the time or the privacy to take it in the way he wished he could.

"Kirk, are you paying attention?"

Doing his best not to roll his eyes at Cadet Tambe, who was a third-year cadet and his flight squad's Team Leader, Jim pulled his gaze from the viewport. "Yes, sir."

"Could have fooled me," she said, but not harshly. "We're receiving telemetry from Mars Orbiter II."

"Right," Jim mumbled to himself as he opened the data packet in the navigational computer. "Cross-referencing telemetry and approach vectors with the nav charts. Just a moment... Course plotted."

"Good. Transmitting course parameters to shuttlecrafts _Capricorn _and _Aquarius_."

Jim stole a few more seconds of gazing at the Earth as they waited for the other shuttlecrafts to coordinate their flight plans. It was 0820 hours at Starfleet Academy. He'd been up since long before daybreak, doing pre-flight checks on the shuttlecraft in the training hangar. Hell, he'd been awake long before he technically had to be, but he hadn't been able to sleep. Too excited. Plus, he'd needed to stop by Bones' dorm room before heading to the hangar. Needed to make sure Bones would watch.

Not that he wanted to admit it aloud, but after years of having nobody around to watch his accomplishments, he'd stopped caring about accomplishing anything. The past year had changed all that. Life at the academy, a new sense of purpose, and actually having someone around who might just give a damn about him... behind all the grumbling and warnings not to die, of course… had changed everything. Jim smiled at the memory of the pillow that had hit him in the back of the head as he'd left the room. He'd found it oddly comforting.

It had been a good first year, once he'd managed to get his bearings and wrap his head around everything that had happened… including almost losing his best friend before he'd realized he even _had_ a best friend. And really, his second year was shaping up to be even better than the first. His ambitious three-year plan was actually on-track. _Nobody_ managed to do that unless they already had an advanced academic degree, and yet it really looked like he was going to do it, and do it well. Not only did he have Bones, whose friendship he'd simply decided never to define, but he also had his flight squad. He'd become an assistant instructor in Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat, and had joined the Xenolinguistics club... much to the annoyance of one very lovely, sharp-tongued linguist he knew. And on top of it all, he was really adjusting to Academy life. _Starfleet_ life, really.

It was good.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as a reply transmission came over the comm system.

"_Shuttlecraft _Pisces_, this is Cadet Okoru aboard the _Capricorn_. We've received your telemetry. Course is confirmed. Begin maneuver in one minute. Ready to roll, Tambe."_  
_  
_Tambe flipped the comm switch. "_Pisces _confirms - one minute."

"Aquarius_ also confirms - one minute,_" came Thaleb's voice. "_Good to go._"

The comm went silent as each shuttle crew made final preparations to break Earth's orbit.

"Ready for this, Kirk?" Tambe asked lightly as she did a last systems check.

"Course I'm ready. I was born in one of these things," Jim said, letting his voice go flat with dry humor, and knowing that Tambe would take the joke the way it was meant.

"Well, unless you were piloting it at the time, I'd say you've still got to show the evaluators that you can do it." Tambe was one of the few people in his advanced classes who knew exactly who Jim was and was completely indifferent to his identity. It was refreshing. Granted, his whole flight squad was really great about it, and they had all become surprisingly close over the past few months, but Tambe hit the balance almost as well as Bones did. Truth be told, he was really glad to be co-piloting with her for this mission.

"Yeah," he said slowly, tapping the last vector into the nav chart, "I was too short to reach the pedals last time."

She snorted. "And here you are, barely an Academy second-year, and already flying your first shuttle out of orbit. You don't even need a pillow on your seat to see out the viewport."

"We corn-fed Iowa brats grow fast. All that lingering 21st-century fertilizer in the soil."

"Uh-huh. Well, unless they do a lot of flying in Iowa, all that fertilizer won't help you much."

"I flew a car once. One of those early models from the 20th century." He tried to keep a straight face, and just narrowly failed.

Tambe rounded on him, her face incredulous. "_What_? Those don't have anti-gravity propulsion. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well... the car flew. I bailed. But I couldn't quite reach the pedals then either."

Tambe's mouth opened, but she bit back her words and shook her head. "I think I'd rather not know." She finally let herself laugh. "Romano thinks you're going to botch the maneuver, by the way. He stopped by the hangar while you and the rest of the squad grabbed breakfast."

Jim gave a dry laugh. Romano was in Helios Squadron, another flight team on the same track as Nova Squadron, and he seemed to think just a bit too highly of himself. "Cadet Romano doesn't think they should have let me take anything except the standard second-year courses. So let him. He just can't handle the fact that my assessment for flight training was higher than his current standing, and he's graduating in May."

"Well, let's show Cadet Romano... and the evaluators..." Her voice trailed off as she noted the countdown beep. "Ten seconds."

Feeling a little thrill, Jim gave his seat harness one last tug and laid his fingers on the shuttle controls. "Course laid in. Ready to break orbit. Proximity sensors engaged... locking position at the right wing of the V-formation."

"Okay, Kirk. Take us out."

Inertial dampeners made it impossible to feel the change in velocity as the shuttlecraft broke orbit and accelerated away from Earth, but Jim imagined he could feel the increased speed pushing him back in his seat. "One-eighth impulse and holding," he said, not quite able to keep the excitement out of his voice. There was a joyful independence in such a small craft, flying away from Earth, completely under his control. It was like the thrill of independence he'd felt the day he stole the car, the day he'd left home, and every time he'd taken his life in his own hands and moved forward. For better or worse, he was in control. "Approaching the lunar slingshot."

The comm panel chimed. "Pisces_, this is the _Capricorn_._"

"Go ahead, Okoru," Tambe replied.

"_Change of orders. The _Pisces _is lead shuttle now. Take it from here, boss._"

Jim stifled a chuckle. Tambe was the Squad Leader, and Okoru the Assistant Squad Leader, but they were also roommates. Okoru dug for the eye-rolls by calling Tambe "boss," as often as possible. It worked this time, too.

With a dramatic eyeroll, Tambe slapped the comm panel. "Confirmed, _Capricorn_." She toggled the switch off and glanced sideways at Jim. "You like that a bit too much."

Jim merely grinned. "Receiving telemetry, boss."

Tambe groaned as the comm hail sounded and an unfamiliar male voice filled the cabin.

"Pisces,_ this is the Mars Orbiter. Maintain lead around the lunar slingshot, linear formation, and the convoy will accelerate to seven-eighths impulse after breaking lunar gravity._"

"Confirmed, _Mars Orbiter_. Pisces over," Tambe replied before the comm channel clicked off. "Got it, Kirk?"

"I'm on it." Jim cross-checked the telemetry and altered their heading. The convoy shifted into a linear formation with the _Pisces_ at the lead as the moon grew on the viewscreen. "I wonder why the change in orders."

"They always do stuff like that, so I've been told. No matter how simple the change, they want to continuously throw the unexpected at us -"

"Then we're always ready for the unexpected when it happens," Kirk finished for her. "Right. But that just means we get the front row seat for this. Look at that view," he mused as they approached the lit side of the moon and began the slingshot maneuver. "You know, I heard that some junior professor doing research in advanced warp physics said that if you do this at maximum warp around a large enough star, you can break the time barrier. I'd like to give it a try someday."

"Kirk," she groaned with amused exasperation, "just fly the damned shuttle."

"Aye, sir! Flying the damned shuttle, sir!" Kirk grinned, not at Tambe's long-suffering sigh, but because he imagined that exact sigh coming from Bones. Yeah, he'd have to make sure Bones saw the flight recorder logs of this mission if he wasn't watching it in real time. For now, he settled himself down and prepped the power couplings for an increase to seven-eighths impulse in twenty seconds. "Charging power relays for increase in impulse velocity."

The surface of the moon was pitted blackness above them with a rim of blinding whiteness as they skimmed the far side of the planetary satellite.

"Power relays are charged," Tambe confirmed. "Impulse engines at eighty-nine percent efficiency."

"Eighty-nine?" Kirk frowned and pulled up the readout. "That's not right. The pre-flight checks had efficiency of the impulse engines running at ninety-four percent."

"It's still within parameters," she countered, but she was frowning too. "Are you sure about the pre-flight checks?"

"Ran them myself. Did a level-two diagnostic of the entire impulse drive system before we stopped for breakfast. Checked the whole system top to bottom, and everything was fine." Jim glanced up quickly at the nav console. "Shit, we don't have time to check it again right now. Preparing to break lunar orbit on my mark…" He held his breath and watched the digital readout until it hit the zero, and activated the thrusters. "Mark! Accelerating to seven-eighths impulse."

"We're on course... and so are the other shuttles." Tambe breathed a small sigh of relief. "Nice bulls-eye, Kirk."

"Thanks, but I still don't like that efficiency reading." He unfastened his harness and lurched out of his seat, not waiting to ask permission. "We're on a stable course for the next six minutes. Let me take a look at the engine system."

She gave him a look that would have rivaled Bones' best glare of incredulity. "We're well within specs for a mission like this, Kirk. We're not being rated for engineering acrobatics today – just piloting. It's good enough."

"This is Starfleet, Tambe. Good enough never is." He gave her an imploring look. "Please… six minutes."

She sighed in surrender. "Five and a half."

With a nod, Jim strode to the back of the shuttlecraft, leaving Tambe to deal with navigation. He pulled open the starboard engine access panel then hit the engineering controls. "The control panel is showing normal functions. This doesn't make sense. A five-percent drop in efficiency with no explanation..."

_Things don't happen without a reason, Jim_, Bones had told him after finals last spring. _You got sick because you didn't sleep for three days to study and claimed you were too busy to eat. You used up all your energy and did nothing to replenish it, and NO, we still don't have a cure for the common cold. Now stop being such an infant and drink your orange juice._

"There has to be something causing this... using up all the energy..." Jim whispered to himself, blinked, and then called back over his shoulder. "I think something is draining the power from the system."

"Like what?" Tambe asked skeptically.

"A space leech! I don't know!" He pulled back a secondary panel and began a direct scan of the system. He was no engineer, but the day he passed his flight assessment and got accepted straight into level 2 pilot training, he'd started studying engine and navigation systems, top to bottom. He'd even gotten his roommate, who was on the engineering track, to give him some pointers. He'd learned too well that when the shit hit the fan, there wasn't always someone else to do a job. He _had_ to be able to figure this out.

He leaned in closer, sticking his head and shoulders through the access port. "Something has to be diverting energy from the system because the power core is functioning at full capacity and there's no system damage that a basic scan can detect, but not all the power is making it to the engines."

"Well, figure it out fast! You're the one being assessed as the primary pilot on this run, not me."

"Okay, okay!" Trying to think clearly despite the time crunch, Jim ran the scanner along the power conduits, tracing back as far as he could reach without taking apart half of the section. The power feed from the main core was fully charged at the beginning of the primary conduit, but by the time it reached the impulse engines, it had lost over eleven percent power - not the usual four to six percent. "There's got to be something wrong in the primary power conduit loop. I'm going to reroute the power through secondary conduits."

"Just hurry it up," Tambe said, sounding distinctly impatient.

"Fast as I can... wait." He stared at the system for a moment, then shook his head. "I've got an idea."

"More doing, less talking, Kirk."

"I _am_ doing!" He started disconnecting secondary conduits and fixing them in a new pattern. "My roommate is in the engineering track. He showed me a more efficient way to reorganize the power grid. If I can just -"

"Kirk!_"_  
_  
_"_Fine!_" Tambe should know what he was doing to their engines, but the last thing he needed was to piss off his co-pilot. Gritting his teeth to keep himself from rattling off the details of what he was doing, he dug back in. A moment later, he checked the efficiency readings. Eighty-eight now. Jim scowled. How the hell had he _lost_ another efficiency point? Had he done it wrong? Maybe one more adjustment -

"General maneuvers in two minutes now," Tambe called out.

"Pisces_, this is _Mars Orbiter II_. Your craft will continue to lead the convoy until further notice. Your first maneuver will be Alpha-seven_. _Execute the maneuver in approximately two minutes. Transmitting telemetry. _Mars Orbiter_ out_."

"Shit," Tambe snapped. "Kirk, get up here."

"Great... just gr-OUCH!" He growled as he clipped the back of his head on the edge of the access port as he straightened up. Rubbing his head, he stepped back to the front of the shuttle and sat back down heavily into the copilot's seat. "I've got the maneuvers... can you try to figure out what's wrong with the engines?"

"Kirk, it's not an issue. The engines will be just fine," she said as she cross-checked the gravitational sensors with the map of their course. "You did the pre-flight checks, and I'm sure you would have caught anything that might have been a problem. You're too competitive to have missed anything. So start programming the maneuvers, and I'll transmit to the other shuttles."

"But what if there -"

She spun away from the ops console and faced Jim straight on, jaw set firmly. "That's an order."

Jim opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again. Tambe was his squad leader, even though she was acting as his co-pilot today for the skills assessment, and despite the fact that she almost never pulled rank. But in the end, her orders stood. She could be absolutely fierce when things came down to the wire, which Jim respected. And it was true - they were still within specs. She was absolutely making the right and rational decision.

Although he didn't much like admitting it, he needed someone to rein him in once in a while, keep his head on straight so he could focus on the top priorities. That someone was usually one Leonard McCoy, but Tambe filled those shoes pretty well, too. He just hated leaving something like that efficiency drop alone. In the accelerated track, he was under intense scrutiny, and had learned that his only guarantee of being allowed to continue the accelerated program was to keep his record flawless. Double-check everything. Cover his own tail. Even some of the more creative antics he pulled in tactics classes couldn't get him held back as long as he met every evaluation flawlessly.

Maybe he'd missed something on the pre-flight diagnostic. For command-track, his engineering skills were above par, but he didn't know everything. Still, he was going to be evaluated on his piloting today, not his engineering. He needed to focus on his primary mission. "Inputting calculations for maneuver one."

"Good." Tambe's tone was surprisingly sympathetic. "Take a deep breath, Kirk. It's just a training mission. If the efficiency isn't up to your shiny standards, we'll tell the evaluator that you noticed it during maneuvers, and get some extra credit doing maintenance on it later. It's not important right now."

He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "You're right," he said, even though his gut instinct was screaming otherwise. "Thanks, Tambe."

She nodded with a sly smile. "Of course I'm right." She looked back down at the control panel and they worked quietly for a few moments. "Telemetry calculations have been received and confirmed by the _Capricorn _and the _Aquarius._ Ready to begin maneuver one." With a smile, she gave him an encouraging nod. "She's all yours."

Jim nodded, then toggled the comm switch. "_Capricorn_ and _Aquarius_, this is the _Pisces_. Begin maneuver at heading 146-mark-7."

Two voices confirmed the maneuver, and seconds later, the line of shuttlecrafts slipped into a series of loops and twists that made Jim think of an old-fashioned roller coaster. He swore he could feel the pressure of gravity shifting around him with each loop, but he knew it was all his imagination. A few minutes later, the maneuver was completed, and Jim let out a soft whoop of relief.

"Nice job, Kirk, but that's just the first one," Tambe said with a nod of approval.

"Pisces_, this is Mars Orbiter II. Acknowledge that the maneuver is complete, and the shuttlecraft _Aquarius_ will be taking the lead for the next maneuver."_  
_  
_Tambe hit the comm panel. "Mars Orbiter, this is the _Pisces_. Acknowledged, over." She turned back to Kirk. "Well, the evaluators liked it enough, or they'd keep us in the hot seat for a second maneuver."

"Good to know," Jim said, taking a moment to catch his breath before the _Aquarius_ sent the next set of telemetry. He should have known this wouldn't be a simple pleasure cruise - it _was_ training, after all. But still, for his first flight out, he hadn't expected quite this much tension. Most of it was from the uncertainty about the power loss hanging over him.

Maybe that was part of the test - to see how they'd handle a mechanical problem during a mission. Would he let a minor fluctuation go unexplained and unfixed if it was still within specs and the mission was more important? Would he stop the mission if there was a mechanical risk to the shuttle? Jim clenched his jaw in frustration. Maybe they wanted to test his decision-making skills. "Are you sure we don't have time to check the engines again before the next maneuver?" he asked. "I _know_ I can get the efficiency rating back up."

"Kirk, give it up." Tambe sighed and gave him a placating look. "If the readings drop below tolerance levels, we'll tackle it, but for now, the maneuvers are our priority." A split second later, they received the flight plan and new approach vector from the _Aquarius_, and Tambe let out a low whistle. "Damn, this one is going to take us almost all the way to Mars."

"Got it. Course laid in." As they shifted vectors, Jim _swore_ he felt the acceleration press him against his seat. No... just his imagination. Psychological response to a change in direction. Inertial compensators handled that sort of thing.

"Did you feel that?" There was a hint of nervousness in Tambe's voice, something that didn't sound right on her.

If Jim's gut had been twisted only slightly from imagined g-forces before, it had definitely tied itself into a knot now. "You too?" Jim didn't like the look of Tambe's nod, and he blew out a slow breath, trying to keep a level head. "Shit. Let me take a look -"

"No," she cut him off. "This is _your_ evaluated piloting run. You need to stay focused. I'll check it."

Jim could feel his jaw clench, but he forced himself to look calm. He did the pre-flight diagnostics; he was responsible. But Tambe was in charge, and she was right – he was being evaluated as the primary pilot today. "Just... okay. Okay, I'll handle the piloting."

"Good - I'll check the inertial dampeners," she said quickly, pulling up the systems status on the control screen. "This isn't right. Efficiency is down in the inertial dampeners, too. 84% and dropping." She looked over at Jim, eyebrows furrowed tightly. "What did you do to the engine?"

"I..." Jim swallowed tightly as he got a sick feeling in his gut. "I rerouted power to a simpler circuit, bypassing the conduit where we seemed to be losing power. I used one central conduit for the impulse engines... and the inertial dampeners."

"_What_? Why the hell did you do that?" she snapped, clearly not wanting an answer. Growling, she turned away from him and flipped the comm switch. "_Pisces _to_ Aquarius _and _Capricorn_. Are either of your shuttles experiencing power fluctuations?"

"_Negative,_ Pisces," Thaleb replied from the Aquarius._ "All functions are normal."_  
_  
"The _Capricorn_ is fine, too,"_ Okoru said. _"The maneuver begins in ninety seconds. Are you having problems your shuttle?"_

"We're still within specs, but we've got an efficiency drop in our impulse engines, and we're showing similar fluctuations in our inertial dampeners."

"_Can you complete the maneuver?"_ There was a strong note of concern in her voice.

For a split second, Tambe hesitated, and Kirk wasn't actually sure what he wanted her to say. There was no reason his adjustments should have caused this problem. Something just _felt_ wrong.

However, Tambe finally nodded and said, "Affirmative. We're good to go. _Pisces_ out." Then she turned to Kirk. "Run the maneuvers. I'll keep an eye on the energy readings. If things get too unstable, I'll comm the Mars Orbiter directly and abort the mission."

Jim could only nod in reply, keeping his eyes glued to the nav controls. The shuttle formation shifted into an inverted V, and he eased the _Pisces _into the front-left slot as they approached the starting point for the run. As soon as the countdown hit zero, his focus narrowed until nothing else existed except the controls and patterns flashing in front of him. Maneuver Delta-three leading into a classic planet approach for high orbit...

The shuttlecraft vibrated slightly. Then it shook. "What the fuck..."

"Stay with the formation, Kirk!" Tambe barked the order as she unsnapped her harness and moved to the back of the shuttle. "I'll see what I can do."

Jim looked back over his shoulder, unnerved that he couldn't finish the repair himself. He didn't like this - leaving something half-finished, incorrectly done. But more than that, he hated having that control taken from him. Still, he was surprised that he was finding himself seriously nervous... on a training mission, of all things. Briefly, Bones' warnings about the dangers of shuttles and space travel came flooding back, but he pushed them out of his mind. He hesitated, then said, "Tambe, can I have another go at it? I know I can finish –"

"Just pilot the shuttle! I've got this."

Jim didn't particularly like taking orders, and it didn't come naturally, but he'd learned to work as part of a team in the past year. Teamwork had saved his skin once... and Bones' life. That had to be worth something. And Tambe was good. Even if he'd rather do it himself, he could trust her assessment.

They were coming within range of Mars when Tambe flopped back down into her seat. Her face was flushed with stress, and some of her dark hair had come out of its tight braid. "I've diverted power from the auxiliary generators to the impulse engines and inertial dampeners. Even with your patchwork circuit, the power levels are up. We're stabilized and within specs. That should be enough to get us through the final maneuver until we dock with the Mars Orbiter. They can deal with the repairs before we take it back to Earth."

"Sounds good," Jim said, feeling just a tiny bit of the tension drain from his shoulders. "We just received an updated approach vector from the _Capricorn_. I guess it's their turn to lead a maneuver."

Tambe slid to the edge of her seat and looked at Jim's nav panel. "A low orbit bounce? Don't they usually use that in advanced pilot training?"

Jim shook his head, feeling the small boost of confidence that comes with knowledge, no matter how obscure. "Not always. In the advanced classes, it's a dense-atmosphere maneuvers, but Mars has an ultra-thin atmosphere... enough to give us a feel for hitting an atmosphere without as much of the risks. I've done it twice in simulation - it'll be fine."

"Makes sense. Okay." She was reaching for her harness when another alarm beeped. "Oh what _now_?" She ran towards the back of the shuttle just as the comm panel chimed.

"Capricorn_ to _Pisces_ and _Aquarius- _the approach vector and course have been transmitted. Confirm please._"

Jim slapped the comm switch. "This is the _Pisces_. Vector and course received and laid in. Ready to execute high orbit maneuver." He barely heard the _Aquarius _echo his confirmation as he double-checked the course. They'd be approaching the high orbit at a shallow trajectory, almost tangential to the planet's surface. Just as they'd hit orbital altitude, they'd take steep dive and use the atmospheric pressure to aid a bounce-back and accelerate at full impulse away from the planet again. Chewing his lip - a nervous habit he'd never quite broken - he ran the numbers again. "Tambe, have we lost any more power?"

"I don't think so. There's an odd fluctuation though." She spoke slowly, as if still puzzling to herself.

Jim didn't like that tone. "What's causing it?"

For a moment, she didn't speak. There were clanking sounds as she fiddled with something in the engine hatch. Finally, she blew out an exasperated breath. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Do we need to call off the maneuver?"

"I don't think so."

"You sure?" He spared a glance back at her, just in time to see her replacing the inner panel.

"No," she said as she walked back to the front of the shuttlecraft. "But there's no reason why it shouldn't work. With the auxiliary engines supplementing primary power, it should give us enough juice to get through the training exercise. It's okay - one more maneuver, and we can dock." She brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of her eyes as she sat back down in the pilot's seat. "Never a dull moment, huh?"

Jim snorted, thinking of how much insanity he'd experienced in just over a year since he'd started at the Academy. "You've got that right," he said as he brought up the energy schematics and rerouted the power flow. The timer ticked to zero, and all three shuttlecrafts accelerated to full impulse, speeding towards a high Mars orbit. The red planet appeared as a tiny spot on their viewport, but rapidly began to fill the screen. "Slowing to one-eighth impulse... Tambe, your harness! Atmospheric contact in five... four... three... two... one..."

The shuttle lurched like it had slammed through a brick wall. Tambe hadn't managed to re-fasten her harness and went headfirst into the control panels as the alarms wailed.

"Tambe!" Jim yelled out in shock, only to hear a faint moan in reply, but he couldn't get up to help her - the shuttle was still shaking around him. The angle of entry was taking them deeper into the atmosphere at breakneck pace, and they were seconds away from hitting the next atmospheric layer. There was only a tiny window of time to execute the sharp turn that would bounce them off the atmosphere and shoot them away from the planet.

Eyes snapping back and forth between the navigation and ops consoles, Jim saw that the inertial dampeners had dropped to forty-five percent efficiency. "_Shit..._" There wasn't enough time to fight with the inertial dampeners, and as the nav console flashed the proximity warning for the next atmospheric layer, he punched the engines to bounce off the layer.

The shuttlecraft shook with another jolt, throwing Jim hard against his harness and snapping his head forward, but when he looked back up, their trajectory hadn't changed. The engines weren't responding.

"Pisces_! This is the _Capricorn_! You've broken formation and your velocity is unstable. What's going on?" _There was panic in Cadet Okoru's voice.

"Engine malfunction! I don't know..." Jim shook his head, making a second attempt to engage the impulse engines. There was a whine, and the high-pitched crackle of electricity. A slight change in velocity, but not nearly enough to pull them away from their course towards the planet. _Fuck_. He slapped the comm panel. "All frequencies, this is Cadet Kirk aboard the shuttlecraft _Pisces_. We've lost impulse engines, and inertial dampeners are failing. Cadet Tambe is injured. Requesting immediate assistance!"

"Pisces, _this is the _Mars Orbiter_. We're trying to get a lock for an emergency beam-out, but you need to stabilize your vector and attitude._ _Switch to maneuvering thrusters._"

"Acknowledged," he said, trying to keep his voice level and failing. "Attempting to use maneuvering thrusters to compensate..." The shuttle shook again as the thrusters fired unevenly, and the degrading orbit faltered as the shuttle began to spin towards a free-fall. "Maneuvering thrusters are dead! We've got no power. Requesting emergency beam-out immediately!"

"Pisces_, our transporter crew is trying to establish a lock. Stand by."_  
_  
_"It's kinda hard to stand by when you're about to crash!" Jim blurted, not caring if it earned him a reprimand later.

The Mars Orbiter crew said something else, but Jim didn't hear what they said and didn't much care as he wrenched off his harness and slid down to the floor where Tambe had fallen. The engines had failed - there was nothing he could do from the nav controls, but he could try to help his co-pilot. First aid... check for pulse, check for breathing... she was alive and breathing, but based on the trickle of blood across her forehead and the purplish lump rapidly forming there, she'd whacked her head pretty hard. "Come on, Tambe, I need some help here." He knew she wouldn't respond, but he had to fill the void while he waited desperately for the transporter beam he wasn't sure was going to come.

With a grunt, he hauled her up into the seat and fixed the harness around her. If they crashed - _we're not going to crash_ - they should both be harnessed in place. _For all the fucking good that's going to do. Nanofiber harness against a planetary gravity well. Oh yeah, that's a fair fight._  
_  
_There was a voice on the comm panel, and they were telling him to stay calm and stand by, but that was bullshit. He stumbled to the back of the craft, trying to keep his footing on the shaking deck plating, and looked through the engine access panel again. The readings were bizarre. Power was being generated, but it wasn't reaching the drive core. He needed to look directly at the internal hardware. Reaching deeper into the engine access hatch, he grabbed the first internal panel and pulled, tossing it aside. Then the second panel. Reaching into the bowels of the engine with a EM-scanner, he held his breath and looked for... something. Something was interfering... something...

"What the fuck is tha -"

The shuttlecraft lurched, sending Kirk careening into the other side of the deck with a heavy thud. Scrambling, half-crawling, he made it to the front of the cabin and pulled himself into his seat. Alarms were wailing, and the surface of Mars was close, too close. Then, wondering if it was the last thing he'd ever do, he strapped himself back into his harness, feeling it snug tightly over his shoulders, across his chest and stomach. It felt like suffocating. Forcing himself to take a breath, he reached forward and whacked the comm panel again. "Mars Orbiter, this is the _Pisces_. How about that emergency beam-out, huh?"

"_Kirk, we're trying to get a lock. Hold still - there's an unusual energy pattern, and your velocity still isn't stable. Try to kill all power to the engines and non-essential systems. That might stabilize your velocity."_

"Okay... okay." Jim reached across the control panel and began shutting down every system he could possibly reach except life support and the inertial dampeners. On a desperate whim, he fed all remaining power into the inertial dampeners, hoping beyond hope that it might cushion the impact, even a little bit. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to test it. The artificial gravity cut out, and he felt himself float against his restraints. _Well, isn't that just ironic_, he couldn't help but think. _Natural zero gravity... finally got to experience it._

There was nothing left to do. No action he could take. No frantic effort that could possibly comfort him with the transparent pretense at control. All he could do was to wait helplessly and hope that some transporter technician he'd never met would be able to pull a miracle out of some circuitry, but engineers weren't miracle workers. At least, none that he'd ever met. Circuits and wires and machines wouldn't care that this was only his first training mission, or that his dad had also died in the black. Maybe Bones was right - machines were cold and heartless. So was space.

As the Martian surface filled the viewscreen, Jim wondered if the initial impact would kill him, or if he'd last long enough to find out if his blood really would boil in thirteen seconds when the hull cracked on impact.

_What would Bones say about that?_

He wondered if Bones was watching the flight recorder feed at that moment. If he was, then what was he thinking, watching the shuttle plunging towards the surface of another planet? Would he panic? Sit still in shock? It felt like a sort of insanity, but Jim imagined Bones yelling at him for being reckless and getting injured again, and then telling him to sit down and shut up while he fixed it. Bones could fix it. He could fix anything. And Jim Kirk could beat any odds... right? For that moment, Jim could believe it, because he had to.

He wanted to laugh – to go out laughing in defiance of what should scare anyone witless – but it caught in his throat, and as the altimeter readout sped to zero, all he could do was stare at it blankly and whisper, "_Shit._"

.&.


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTES:**Just reminding everybody that this story is already fully written, and I'll be posting a chapter every couple of days until the whole story is posted. It's the third story in a four-story arc. There's the prequel, "Convergence," already posted on my profile, as well as the first installment in the main trilogy, "And All the King's Men." Plenty of reading material, and more to come. Stay tuned!

**Warning:** This chapter contains some graphic medical descriptions.

.&.

**Chapter 2**

.&.

**From the previous chapter:**  
_Jim wanted to laugh – to go out laughing in defiance of what should scare anyone witless – but it caught in his throat, and as the altimeter readout sped to zero, all he could do was stare at it blankly and whisper, "Shit."_

.&.

Coffee.

All Leonard needed was one more cup of coffee to good and properly wake his ass up. Leave it to Jim to wake him up in the middle of the night after a long day of lab work and before an ER shift. He'd drained his first canteen of coffee already, and he was actually disappointed that the emergency ward had been dead quiet this morning. A bit more activity might have helped keep his eyes open. After reviewing the Gamma Shift logs and treating a minor plasma burn – _how exciting… idiot engineers always trying to get too cozy with their equipment _– he grabbed his canteen and made his way to the doctors' lounge for a refill.

The lead physician on the ward, Dr. Paduga, caught him just before he stepped through the lounge door. "Hey McCoy, are you taking a break?"

Leonard held up his canteen. "Just need a refill. Didn't quite get enough sleep last night."

Paduga frowned. "Did you go to bed too late, or are you having sleeping problems because of the research project?" she asked.

"Neither," he grumbled. "I've got a sleeping problem, and its clinical name is Jim Kirk."

She laughed. "That friend of yours who stops by here sometimes, right? If you find a cure for that kind of problem, let me know, but I think there are worse types of afflictions."

Leonard smiled and shrugged. "I suppose it could be worse. Andorian shingles comes to mind."

"Uh-huh." She gestured back towards the ER doorway with a tilt of her head. "It's pretty quiet on the floor today, and I just got paged by the surgical team up in pulmonology. They need some backup."

"Oh great angels of mercy, you need me to cover the ER floor on a Wednesday morning." He sighed dramatically. "However shall I handle the slow trickle of skinned knees and twisted ankles all by my lonesome?"

She smiled. "I'll let the head nurse know you've got it covered."

"You're welcome," he said with a wry grin.

Paduga gave a nod of thanks, then hurried down the hall to the turbolift.

Chuckling lightly, Leonard let himself the rest of the way into the break room. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee greeted him. Once he'd refilled his canteen, he settled down into an armchair, relishing the quiet for a few moments.

This semester, Starfleet Medical had accepted his proposal for a research project. His own experience with a brutal head injury the year before had led to his proposal for a new technique in emergency neural medicine - using blood vessel stabilization and reconstruction a first-aid measure. His goal was to create a portable device that could start to repair that sort of head trauma automatically. Why should a first responder have to wait until a patient with a head injury was transported back to a hospital to begin treatment? Neurology wasn't his primary specialty, and neither was medical equipment engineering, but the principles of blood vessel repair should, in theory, work the same way in the brain as in any other part of the body. He had a resident neurologist on his team, and had recruited two biomedical engineers.

If this worked, if the equipment could be made small enough, convenient enough, and simple enough, then every emergency med kit could be equipped with these devices. It would drastically reduce the risk of permanent brain injury due to internal hemorrhaging for all but the very worst injuries. It would revolutionize emergency medicine for head trauma.

Leonard sat back and relaxed into the cushions of the chair, sipping his coffee. If the floor needed him, they'd page him. The Emergency Department at Starfleet Medical was actually fairly small, and usually pretty quiet. Sure, the facility had the best doctors in Starfleet, but the facility and its mission were structured around research and advanced medicine; it only handled the emergency medical needs of staff and visiting diplomats at Starfleet Headquarters, and the occasional cadet with injuries beyond the capabilities of the Academy infirmary. Trauma and emergency medical facilities aboard a starship were actually more extensive. This morning, the ER had been almost completely devoid of patients, and after his night of interrupted sleep, he could sure use a few quiet minutes to absorb some quality caffeine and not think too hard.

For a moment, instead of reviving him, the soft cushions and the warm coffee almost lulled him into a doze. He had to admit, even though working at the Starfleet Medical ER was more prestigious, there was always more to do in the Academy Infirmary, and the work was generally more interesting. He blinked and turned his coffee canteen in his hand, staring at the shine of the metal exterior, knowing that he should be doing something useful with the absolute lull in activity.

Jim's request. The flight recorder feed.

The thought had been percolating in the back of Leonard's mind all morning, but with Dr. Paduga keeping him honest, he hadn't seriously been able to consider Jim's request for him to watch the training mission. He glanced across the room at his cubby. The flight recorder transmission was probably running in full swing on his PADD, just waiting for him to pay attention, and his pretense at apathy towards Jim's life was the most pathetic farce he'd ever upheld. Really, he wanted to see it.

Lurching up from his chair with a creaky groan, he grabbed his bag from the cubby on the far wall and pulled out his PADD. A moment later, he was back in his armchair, activating the program which Jim had conveniently placed at the top of his data stream. He sipped his coffee, waiting for the flight recorder feed to start displaying data and visuals, but nothing came up. _Dammit, Jim_, he thought irritably. _You want me to watch something, but don't actually set up the data feed correctly_. Still, the lack of content in the datastream made some nerve in his stomach twist oddly.

Shoving the coffee canteen aside, he refreshed the data receiver cache, trying to get a new lock on the data transmission.

The transmission was blank. No signal at all.

Leonard frowned. That wasn't right. Was the training exercise over already? What time was it? According to the chronometer, the datastream had cut off five minutes ago, so maybe they were already done, but he couldn't quite shake the odd sensation that something was wrong. It was too early.

The twisting in his stomach got tighter as Leonard tabbed back through the datastream records. There certainly _had_been data received on this frequency, but it had stopped… just moments ago. Frowning even more deeply, Leonard went through the playback of the flight recorder transmission, not to the beginning, but to five minutes before the signal was lost.

Two screens activated - one with numerical and graphical representations of the shuttle's telemetry, and another with a video feed from within the shuttlecraft. The transmission began to play, and Leonard couldn't pull his eyes from the video feed.

This wasn't right. It was a training mission, but there was panic in Jim's voice. Real panic. _Lost power... power fluctuation..._ and a cadet he didn't know was trying to fix something. A lurch and a shout - _Jim's voice_ _shouting _- and the other cadet slamming into the control console. The audio became a garbled mess of words and panic to Leonard's ears - _lost impulse engines... emergency thrusters have failed... emergency beam-out..._  
_  
_This was something like his worst nightmare playing out in front of him. Leonard gripped the frame of the PADD tighter, as though he could reach through it and grab Jim and pull him out of there.

It couldn't be real. It had to be a joke. But there was Jim, scrambling to get the other cadet's limp body into the safety harness, a smear of blood on her face. Jim disappeared from view as the transmission from the Mars Orbiter continued to repeat the same damning statement: _"We can't get a lock on you._" There was the thud of a body slamming into metal and a grunt of pain. Jim was back in the pilot's seat, yelling for the emergency beam out... _velocity erratic_... _can't get a lock_... and the rusty red dirt that could only be the surface of Mars was rushing towards the viewport. There a sound like a laugh that was choked by a hysterical sob.

Leonard shook his head to himself, not quite breathing. _No... no no nonono..._  
_  
Shit._

The flight recorder feed went dead, and Leonard stared at the blank PADD in his hands, numb, hearing only the sudden wail of the emergency alarm. Starfleet Medical's emergency alarm.

_"Attention! Code yellow. Shuttlecraft accident, one survivor. Emergency ward prepare for one patient - critical condition. Emergency staff prepare for incoming casualty."_

Leonard could barely breathe as he bolted from the armchair, sending his PADD and coffee clattering across the floor. He grabbed his own emergency kit from his cubby, more out of reflex than anything else, and ran out the door.

He'd liked old movies when he was younger, but he'd never quite understood why the film makers would slow down the speed of the action and dull the sound during extremely tense scenes. Wouldn't it feel like everything was moving faster, not slower? Wouldn't it be a cacophony of sirens and voices? But his frantic dash towards the ER floor felt like he was moving in slow motion. The air seemed thick and it was holding him back, muffling sounds, leaving him with the too-fast thud of his heart in his chest and the rush of blood in his ears as the world oozed by around him. The movies were right - it was terrifying and disconnected, like a dream out of control.

His voice sounded distant as he started barking commands through the emergency room. The words were correct, and the authority was solid, but there was a surrealism to the whole thing that made his skin crawl.

He dropped his kit on the countertop at the central desk in the middle of the ER and grabbed the first nurse he saw - Nurse Aldrich, a tall, middle-aged, dark-skinned woman with a sharp eye and an air of competence that had impressed him since the day he met her. "Nurse Aldrich, follow me. Do we have a report on the patient? Status?" he called out as he hurried into the scrub bay, grabbing his surgical gown and gloves.

Aldrich was right at his heels, reading off a PADD. "One cadet, human male, age twenty-three -"

Leonard stopped short of the sterilization field, almost stumbling. He realized that for a few moments, he'd automatically assumed the survivor was Jim. Hadn't even considered that it might not have been. The other cadet had been a human female. Until now, there was no reason for him to believe that Jim had been the one to survive, but that's exactly what he'd assumed. He didn't want to think about what that might mean. Couldn't think about that right now. He forced himself to breathe again.

"Doctor McCoy? Are you okay?"

Leonard realized that he must look like someone had slapped him, and he couldn't let himself falter in front of the rest of the staff. He shook his head to clear it. "Fine. Just fine." He hoped she hadn't noticed how tight his voice was. "The patient - what do we know? Injuries?"

"I'm sorry," she said softly, and Leonard got a fleeting impression that she meant more than one thing, before she looked back down at her PADD and began rattling off information. "Multiple fractures, internal bleeding, rib fractures with left pneumothorax, head trauma, spinal trauma, brief exposure to zero-atmosphere, signs of radiation exposure -"

"Okay," he cut her off. He'd heard enough to know it was ten kinds of horrible, and he'd get the details when Jim - when the _patient_arrived. He shut off that line of thinking as he hurried towards trauma room one - a room directly off the main emergency ward equipped to handle the worst emergencies. It was a primary treatment room and operating theater in one with a permanent sterile field, and the less often the room was needed, the better. "Who else is still on the ER floor here?"

"We've got... Nurses Hodgkins, Ming, Patel... medical assistant Zhan... oh, and Doctor Hixon."

Leonard spun around in place as the door to the trauma ward slid open for him. "Hixon is the _only _other doctor on the floor?"

Aldrich nodded.

"_Hixon_?" he repeated in furious disbelief. Here he was in the finest medical facility in Starfleet, and the only backup he had was a goddamned first-year obstetrician-wannabe. "Get an anesthesiologist down here, and another trauma surgeon. I don't care what they're doing. Find them and haul their asses into this ward immediately." Leonard clenched his teeth together hard enough to hurt and growled, "And get Hixon in here, stat - at least he knows how to staunch bleeding."

"Yes, doctor," she said and hurried away.

Leonard gritted his teeth and moved into the trauma room, setting up the space for the impending disaster that was about to land in the ER. The nurses could do this work on their own, but he needed to do something. His hands worked automatically to activate and prep standard equipment, and the two nurses who were already there moved around the room with him like a well-rehearsed dance, laying out medications and support equipment, testing the sterile field. The frantic edge of the activity was muted by the strange buzzing in his ears, and the heavy thud of his own heart in his chest. Seconds stretched immeasurably between heartbeats. When there was nothing left to do, Leonard stood at the door of the trauma room, watching the turbolift door across the ER floor.

The intercom system chimed - the emergency medical shuttlecraft was arriving, landing on the roof. Dr. Hixon was running across the floor with Nurse Ming in tow, rounding out the pitiful trauma team. Three nurses, a medical assistant, one resident obstetrician, and Leonard. Bones. Jim's Bones. And Bones' Jim... who was now arriving on the ER floor on a stretcher being pushed by two medics, and all hell broke loose.

"Get him into the trauma ward!" Leonard barked, even though it wasn't necessary. "Vitals, now!"

One of the medics began rattling off blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation, respiratory rate, consciousness level and a whole slew of information even as they pushed the stretcher across the floor to the trauma room. Leonard automatically filed the information into his mental chart as he made a visual check.

It was bad. Really bad. And Jim was - unrecognizable. His clothes were gone, but above where the edge of his collar and cuffs of his sleeves had been, his skin was angry red like a sunburn. His face, neck, chest... his whole body was covered with splotchy blood blisters and purpura where his capillaries had burst. A shoulder obviously separated. Clavicle broken - no, shattered. Thicker welts and bruises across his chest and upper abdomen, probably from his harness. A trickle of blood leaking from his left ear - intracranial hemorrhage. And that was just what Leonard could diagnose at a glance.

The medics disengaged the stabilization force fields securing Jim to the stretcher and transferred him to the biobed. The biobed's ventilation field engaged, and one medic removed the emergency respirator mask while the other moved the bags of saline off the stretcher and hung them from the bedside stand. Leonard activated the biobed scanners, and the sensor display painted an uglier picture.

"Where did the flash burns come from?" Leonard asked as he manually checked the vascular stabilizers already attached to Jim's abdomen. Those would have to be removed before each blood vessel could be repaired, letting the bleeding start again before it could be properly stopped.

"The shuttle exploded three seconds after impact," one of the medics said tightly. "The transporter cycle wasn't complete. They lost the other cadet."

Leonard's stomach clenched at the knowledge that it had been _that close_, but he pressed on, looking quickly between his patient and the tricorder, confirming sensor readouts with a visual inspection. "Has he shown signs of consciousness during transport?"

"He was wide awake when we got him," the other medic said, slightly awed. "Had to sedate him. He kept yelling for the other cadet and something about sabotage."

Leonard felt the blood drain from his face. He'd assumed that a crash like that would have knocked Jim out immediately. To be awake with all this damage... he couldn't even imagine what it was like. Without thinking, he reached down to touch Jim's face, but pulled back his hand almost as if he'd been burned himself.

It wasn't Jim. This was a trauma patient, just like the hundreds of others Leonard had seen, and that was all he could be right now.

"Hixon, start on the internal bleeding," Leonard snapped. "His spleen is ruptured - that's your first priority. Drain the abdominal cavity, isolate the other bleeds, and shut them down. Nurse Patel, cross-match his blood and get him started on a transfusion, two units to start - he's type A-positive. Yes, I'm sure! And increase the fluids. Ming, is he already on one-hundred percent oxygen? Good - we need his right lung supporting him while I put in the chest tube. Set up the pulmonary isolation field." He didn't need to say half of what he was saying - the nurses knew their jobs. But barking the orders helped him feel like he had control over something when everything seemed to be slipping between his fingers.

Growling, he grabbed a scanner and was about to double-check his readings on Jim's lung, but he held back. Reconsidering, he turned the scanner towards Jim's head to reassess the severity of the head injury with a closer scan. And he almost balked. It was worse than he'd initially thought. Extradural bleed, and the pressure was increasing rapidly. Ming was almost done setting up the stabilization field for the chest tube, but the brain bleed couldn't wait. He needed at least one more person, one more doctor. _Where's the goddamned anesthesiologist? Paduga, why the hell did you have to leave now?_He shook his head in frustration. "Ming... maintain the pulmonary field around right lung- that will have to support him for now. We need to do something about the intracranial pressure first."

He'd placed over a hundred drainage shunts during his residency and even more during his practice as a trauma surgeon, but if he let himself recognize the fact that he was literally putting a hole in his best friend's head, he'd falter. It was archaic, and barbaric, but it was the best that medical science had found, and he had to relieve the pressure before he could begin repairs.

His hands threatened to shake, but experience held them steady enough. Not enough hands, not enough doctors. Blood pressure was dropping, cardiac rhythm was weak, and _goddammit this can't be Jim_. But it was, and he couldn't do it all himself. The drainage shunt was in, and he needed to start the work on Jim's lung, but brain activity was destabilizing as the bleed continued. The right lung was holding up, and it would have to be enough for now. He reached for his vascular fusion tool and laser guide and was just about to begin when another alarm sounded.

"Why is he losing so much blood volume?" Leonard snapped over the chaos. "Hixon! What the hell is going on down there?"

"I don't know, Doctor McCoy - I've almost stopped the bleeding from his spleen, but there's got to be something else. I can't find a source of this much blood."

"Scan him again!"

"We did!" Hixon looked up and made eye contact for a brief moment - the young doctor looked terrified. "The hepatic laceration is bad, but we've got that under vascular stabilizers. None of the other organs could be producing this much bleeding."

Leonard felt his jaw clench. He needed another goddamned trauma surgeon in the room _now_. There were too many separate injuries, and everything needed immediate attention. He had to start repairing the head injury, but he couldn't wait for Jim to bleed out either. Something had to wait. Or... something had to be done with automation.

Leonard's breath caught as he glanced out the trauma room door at his own equipment kit sitting on the countertop at the central station. The kit contained his regular emergency equipment, but also the new devices he was using for his research study. No, his devices weren't field-tested yet. Not on a real trauma victim. They weren't even approved for use on a live patient... but it was all he had until backup arrived.

Once the decision was made, it was the only course of action he could imagine. "Zahn! Go grab my kit from the desk in the middle of the ER. Just do it."

Zahn nodded and hurried through the sterilization barrier.

"Hixon, you need to hold it together for another couple of minutes. Patel - add two more units of blood, and increase the rate of flow on the blood transfusion and fluids."

"We've got it at the maximum flow rate, doctor."

"Then start another line if you have to! Hodgkins, help her out."

Zahn was already back with his kit, and Leonard snapped it open and pulled out the neurovascular regen units. Equipped with sensors that pinpointed the ruptured blood vessels, regenerator beams, and precision force-field emitters, the tiny units could simply be attached to a patient's head and would actually begin to repair the major trauma automatically. Theoretically, they would keep the patient stable until more detailed therapy could be applied. It had seemed like a brilliant idea. Too bad he had no idea if it would work.

But there wasn't time to second-guess. "Patel, get over here."

She finished setting up the blood transfusion equipment and rushed to the head of the biobed. "Doctor McCoy?"

He squared his shoulders and took a tight breath - _When the hell did my hands start shaking?_ - before he fixed the first neuro-repair unit on Jim's forehead. "These are experimental, but until we get some backup down here, it's the best we can do." He stuck the second unit in place and activated it, hoping that nobody noticed the way he hesitated. "The devices will start the repair process on his cerebral blood vessels automatically. Monitor the progress to make sure they're actually working, and let me know if _anything_goes wrong, got it? If the bleeding doesn't stop, if we get any signs of irregular neural activity, anything."

"Yes, doctor."

He nodded tightly, then hurried to see what Hixon was doing. "Move over kid - I've got this." He gritted his teeth. Didn't want to let some damned kid do this to Jim, but nobody else seemed to be coming, and it couldn't wait much longer. "Do you know how to place a chest tube, Hixon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then get up there. And be careful."

Leonard spared Hixon one more glance before focusing again on the bleeding mess of an abdominal cavity in front of him. He started scanning, and saw that Hixon was right - the spleen was almost fully patched, at least, for an initial repair. The vascular integrity in the liver was being maintained well with stabilizers. None of the organs were... "Oh hell no." Leonard re-set the scanners, and he knew before the results came back that the pelvic fracture was pouring blood. It was one of the few types of bleeds that couldn't temporarily staunched with vascular stabilizers. Jim could actually bleed out. Leonard was about to race the clock, and it was a race he wasn't about to lose.

Modern medicine was such a far sight removed from the butchery of previous centuries, a fact for which Leonard had always been grateful... but trauma medicine was still messy. There was no way to get around it. If a patient was bleeding, that blood was going to soak your hands, your coat, and your shoes. It was going to spatter your face and drip on the floor. The sterilizing field used in all trauma and surgical wards rendered it non-infectious as soon as it left a patient's body, eliminating the risk to medical personnel, but there was something primal and raw about all that blood.

Still, it was all just parts. Flesh and blood alone weren't a person, and as long as Leonard was working on the parts, just the parts, he could focus. As long as he could forget it was Jim, he could do this. Inject osteoplast, set a bone immobilizer, try not to damage anything else in the process. Easy.

Not easy.

And when the alarm signaling a catastrophic drop in blood pressure sounded, that was just another signal, except that it wasn't. Another prompt, initiating another set of actions to fix yet another problem on another part of the nameless, faceless patient on the biobed... except he had a name, and it was Jim, and he had a face that was too familiar under all that blood. Force fields activated, an elegant technology stimulating the walls of blood vessels, constricting capillaries in the patient's extremities and raising blood pressure again, and the blood pressure alarm went silent only moments before another alarm told him that the rate of bleeding had increased. It was just another noise in the chaos of the trauma ward, battering dully against Leonard's ears as his hands somehow kept moving. It was just another message screaming through his consciousness that this was Jim, and it was not okay.

"Hixon, is that chest tube in? Then get back down here and start working on the hepatic laceration." Leonard spared only seconds to ensure that Hixon had indeed moved on to the next major bleeding source, and noted with both relief and fury that the other trauma surgeon had finally arrived. "Doctor Randall, we've got a hemorrhaging pelvic fracture. I need you to take over so I can work on the brain bleed."

Randall was at his side, nodding and surveying the damage. "Was it really a shuttle crash?" he asked as he gently took the tools from Leonard's hands and smoothly took over the procedure.

"Yeah," Leonard said, surprised at how rough his voice suddenly sounded. "Yeah, he crashed. Training mission. The shuttlecraft lost power and crashed into the surface of Mars."

For a split second, every voice in the trauma ward went dead silent even though the frantic rush of hands on Jim's—_the patient's_—body didn't stop. Then Randall asked, "How did you get the report so fast?"

Leonard swallowed tightly. "I didn't. I watched it happen." The nurses looked up at him. The doctors seemed to pause or hold their breaths for a second, even as they continued to work. He thought he saw sympathy on some of the nurses' faces. He couldn't stand the eyes on him, and he fixed his face with a glare. "What are you waiting for?"

The noise resumed as Leonard stepped around to the top of the biobed and grabbed the tricorder from nurse Patel for a close scan. His fingers smeared the machine with blood as the screen spit back information. "It's holding," he breathed, and it was. Not perfectly, and the repairs weren't as good as he'd hoped they'd be, but the damage hadn't gotten any worse, the shunt was draining well now, and the two worst blood vessel breaks had already been mended. He took a slow breath to steady himself, then shoved the tricorder at Nurse Patel. "Keep a constant monitor on him. I've got to start doing this manually."

Leonard grabbed a vascular regenerator and laser guide, and was turning back to begin work when he saw movement. Movement he didn't expect. Jim's mouth was moving. Leonard shook his head. "Patel, what's his brain activity level? He can't be conscious. We've got him under general anesthetic..."

"He's out cold," she said, glancing up at the biobed monitor, then over to Nurse Hodgkins who was monitoring the anesthetic. Then she looked at the biomonitors again. "He _should _be out cold - anesthetic levels in his blood are adequate..." She trailed off and her face went pale. "He's coming out of it. I don't understand -

It was all Leonard could do not to curse up one wall and down the other for the anesthesiologist, but that wouldn't help. "Hodgkins, how did you calculate the dose?"

"We used ten percent above the minimum dose rate for his mass," she said nervously. "I need approval from an anesthesiologist for more. In normal trauma causes -"

"Does this look _normal_ to you?" Leonard snapped, feeling his stomach drop to his knees. Jim had an irrepressible will, and if some part of his psyche was determined to be awake, it would take more than a minimum dose to keep him out cold. "Goddammit - readjust the dosage on the IV to ninety percent of the maximum for his mass, and fix a hypospray with thirty milligrams of etomidate, _now_." He looked down at Jim's face, and for the first time since he'd started working, he couldn't avoid seeing Jim. Not just a patient - not just blood and flesh and parts - but _Jim._His face was red and blotchy, but under the smears of blood and bruising, there was Jim. His mouth and eyes were beginning to tighten with pain. "Hang in there, Jim. Just hold on," he whispered, praying that Jim couldn't actually hear him.

Then Jim's eyes fluttered, and the thinnest sliver of blue peeked out from between blood-encrusted eyelashes. He looked dazed and confused, obviously in pain, but he was there. "Bones?" His voice was so weak it was almost inaudible, but unmistakable. Jim was always unmistakable.

"I'm here, Jim," Leonard whispered roughly. He didn't want Jim to know he was there. He didn't want Jim to know any of this, but as Jim's eyes darted from his face to the frantic surroundings of the trauma ward, the confusion began to shift into awareness.

"I... Tambe... is Tambe... she didn't... Bones?" His eyes widened, just a bit, and his voice was rough and broken by the pressure of the ventilation field on his his lungs. "It was sabotage... Bones... something in the engine..." His words broke off into a grunt of pain. "Bones..."

A hypospray was placed in Leonard's hand. He was trying to wrap his head around what Jim as saying, but he couldn't stop to think about that. As quickly as he could without startling Jim - _oh God, don't let him remember any of this _- he pressed the hypospray against Jim's neck. Delivered directly to the common carotid artery, the additional boost of anesthetic would reach his brain before the IV anesthetic could catch up. Seconds mattered. "Go back to sleep, kid. I'll take care of you."

Jim blinked. Then frowned. "You said not to... come crying to you when... when... the shuttle..." His eyes drooped and fell shut.

Leonard dropped the hypospray, which clattered to the floor. He blinked a couple of times, trying to ignore the way the blood was rushing so loudly in his ears, the way his chest suddenly felt too tight, how the air was too thick, and... and...

He shook his head sharply to clear it. He couldn't let himself falter, not now. He turned to reach for his tools again, only to find himself face to face with Doctor Paduga. He was relieved that she was finally there, because he could sure use another set of hands, but she was in his way. "I need my regen tools," he said, then called over her shoulder, "Nurse Patel, hand me the laser guide and -"

"Belay that, Patel," Doctor Paduga interrupted him, then put a firm hand on his arm. "You need to stop."

"No! He's my patient, and I'm not quitting on him! We're short-handed as it is. Now let me get back to work." He tried to step around her again, but she held him fast.

"Leonard," she said, in a tone of voice he'd not heard her use before, forceful but oddly sympathetic, "we've got him. We're not quitting on him. But you're his friend, and you shouldn't be treating him."

Shaking his head defiantly, he reached past her to grab the regen tool, only to drop it immediately. He stared at his empty hand and finally noticed how badly his hands were shaking, and that he could barely grip anything. "I... I'm not -"

Paduga shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. "Nurse Aldrich, we've got enough backup now. Take McCoy to the doctors' lounge and sit with him." She looked back at Leonard. "And as for you... you're shaking, and your face is gray. We don't need another patient. Now go."

"But..."

"We'll take care of him, Leonard. I promise."

Feeling oddly numb, he could only nod in reply as Nurse Aldrich led him from the trauma ward and the chaos and the beeping monitors and Jim. One last glance backwards gave him a glimpse of Paduga leaning in close and getting right to work. Jim was in good hands. He really was. But... it was just...

"Come on, Doctor McCoy," came Nurse Aldrich's voice, as if from far away. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Leonard was in a fog as she led him to the scrub room. Gloves, coat, shoe covers... all soaked in blood, all dropped into the biohazard bin. Jim's blood in the biohazard bin. It was still on his scrub top, his pants, his arms where the blood had actually seeped between his sleeves and his gloves. Aldrich had to lead him to the scrub basin. While sonic cleaning was good for sanitizing, hot water was still the standard for helping a doctor to feel human again after dealing with any surgery, especially a massive trauma case. It wasn't helping so much this time. As he watched Jim's blood slowly rinse off his wrists and mix with the water flowing down the metal basin and into the drain, he felt something just as hot and just as unnerving welling up in his eyes.

"He'll be okay," the nurse said suddenly. "You got him through the worst of it. He was starting to stabilize when you left."

Leonard shook his head. "We were only handling the most vital functions. Haven't assessed the burns, spinal damage, peripheral nerve function... anything could happen. He could still flatline," he said, feeling numb and stupid.

"Do you believe he will?" For a moment, however brief, Nurse Aldrich reminded Leonard of his own mother, putting things into perspective with indisputable arguments and a firm gaze.

A painful smile twisted Leonard's face. "Jim always beats the odds." Then his face fell again.

"Then what is it?"

Looking back down at his hands, which were mostly free of Jim's blood now, Leonard said, "He stopped by my room last night and asked me to watch his shuttle training exercise this morning. Flight recorder data feed."

She nodded slowly. "That's why you said you saw it happen."

He started to nod, then shook his head. "Yes, but that's not it. I told him what would happen."

She frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I... don't like space flight." It felt like a horrible confession. "Shuttlecrafts. Atmospheric crafts. Any flight, really. I met the kid on a shuttlecraft. Told him then and there all the horrible things that could happen to a human body if space flight went wrong." He swallowed. "It became a running joke for us." Then he coughed, choking on his words. The room was too hot and too cold at once. Was he shaking or shivering?

Somehow, she managed to look both sympathetic and mortified. "You didn't, did you?"

"Yeah. That. And last night, when he woke me up at stupid o'clock, I told him that when he crashes today in his training flight -" The room was really much too hot now, the air too thick. "- not to come crying to me."

"Oh dear..."

Leonard nodded, a halting, jerky movement that shook through him. "He remembered. When he started to come out of sedation in there... he was lucid. Good God, he was actually lucid... and he said that." Leonard felt himself falter, and Aldrich caught him by the elbow.

"Let's get you to a seat. Okay?"

"Okay."

She led him quickly through the sonic shower before guiding him out of the emergency ward and down the hall. His whole body was shaking by the time they got to the doctor's lounge. His hands itched for something to do, something to hold, and insanely, he thought of the small flask he'd carried onto the shuttle where he'd met Jim. However, he couldn't drown himself in the familiar burn of bourbon here, not around his colleagues at Starfleet Medical, so he automatically moved towards the coffee pot. Nurse Aldrich's firm grip on his arm steered him clear away.

"Sorry, Doctor McCoy, but the last thing you need right now is coffee," she said as she led him straight to the couch.

"You want me to sit here with nothing to do while my friend is in the trauma ward with his body practically turned inside out, and I can't even have a cup of coffee?"

She glared at him. "You're shaking like a chihuahua and you want to drink a stimulant? Sorry, doctor, but that's not going to happen."

"I've got to have some something to do." He wrenched his arm out of her grasp, spinning away from her.

He began to pace, ready to launch into a pointless rant that wouldn't even help him feel better... when he saw his PADD on the floor where he'd dropped it. He forgot all about the coffee. Still shaking, possibly more than he'd been before, he reached down and picked it up. On unsteady legs, he shuffled to the couch, sat down stiffly, and activated the screen. The flight recorder feed was still there.

Nurse Aldrich stood next to Leonard, looking down at the PADD. "What's that?"

Leonard barely spared her a glance. "Answers. I hope."

Mouth dry, heart beating just a bit too fast, he brought the flight recorder datastream to the beginning of the training run and let it run.

From the moment they left Earth's orbit to the last anguished seconds of the shuttle's descent to the Mars surface, Leonard watched every second of Jim's flight with rapt attention. The rest of the room faded away as he scoured every sound, every movement. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but there had to be something... something important. Jim had said sabotage. Even drugged, dazed, and in what had to be excruciating pain despite the analgesics, he was sure that Jim had meant what he'd said, and had a real reason to say it. If there was some way to start gathering evidence, it would be here, in this recording. Leonard couldn't fix Jim's body, but maybe could start hunting for answers.

He sat there, fully immersed in the holovid, until the last seconds of the recording ran out, leaving him staring at the blank screen in his hands. The screen was shaking. No, his hands were still shaking, just like the rest of his body. There were a couple of parts of the recording when he remembered thinking that something seemed odd - a phrase he should remember, something they said that might be important, but Leonard couldn't even think straight anymore.

He felt sick. He felt frantically worried. He felt lost and useless.

He felt a hypospray against the side of his neck.

Leonard yelped reflexively as he slapped his hand against his neck like swatting a mosquito. He spun sideways in his seat to see Nurse Aldrich standing there, looking down at him with something resembling pity.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, rubbing his neck.

She waved the hypospray lightly. "Anxiolytic," she said gently. "I contacted the director of Internal Medicine and she approved it."

Leonard stood up and faced her, only now realizing that she was slightly taller than him. Unnerving. "Why the hell did you contact her? And of course I'm anxious! You would be too, but goddammit, you can't just medicate away every little problem. If I want to worry over my friend, then -"

"You're not just anxious, Doctor McCoy," she said, taking the PADD out of his hands and putting it on the table in front of him. "You're shaking, you're sweating, your skin is clammy, and I might not be a doctor, but I have worked in this profession long enough to know when someone has reached an unhealthy limit." Her voice wasn't unkind, but it left no room for argument.

Frowning, he made a move to reach for his PADD, but she put a hand on his elbow and held him back. "You can leave it for now. It will still be there ...after you've rested a little."

Leonard blinked, starting to feel drowsy. "But Jim needs me. I need to -"

"Rest. You need to rest." She moved in front of him, completely blocking his view of his PADD. "There are excellent doctors working on your friend, and they're not going to quit on him. You got him through the worst of it. Now you owe it to him to take care of yourself so you can be there to help him when he wakes up."

In the small fraction of Leonard's mind that was still rational, he knew that Doctor Paduga was one of the best surgeons in Starfleet. He knew that a good anesthesiologist had just arrived. Knew that Doctor Randall's hands were far steadier than his own were by the time he'd left. He knew that he could hunt for answers later. He blinked again. Opened his eyes as wide as possible, but his eyelids felt heavy. And he knew that anxiolytics weren't supposed to make you _that _sleepy. "How much of that did you give me?" he asked, just as he stumbled slightly, surprised to feel Nurse Aldrich's hand steadying him.

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Only what you needed. Now lie down and rest," she said, lowering him to the couch and guiding him to lie down.

"But I need to know when -"

"I'll wake you up when he's out of surgery."

"But Jim..."

His protests died on his tongue as sleep crept up around his brain and swept him away.

"... was working himself into a state... planned to wait until Kirk was out of surgery..."

A woman's voice pierced the sleep-induced fog around Leonard's brain. There was rough fabric rubbing against his cheek, and voices just a few feet away.

"I can wait to talk to him, if you think that would be better," came a second voice, this one male. They were both speaking in hushed tones, something that reminded him of the way doctors and nurses would speak in the room of an unconscious patient. It made him uneasy. He cracked his eyes open and and was met by a fuzzy view.

"Well," the first voice answered slowly, "he was actually in a state of shock when I dosed him, and I can't say I'm surprised. He's generally in excellent health, but he was starting to overstress his heart at that point. But he's been out long enough to have recovered... physically." Leonard didn't miss that pause.

"I'm sure it was hell for him. Those two are close. They've been through a lot together."

"I know," said the woman. "I was here last year when... yeah, I was here."

"I guess it's up to you," the man said neutrally. "I would have come sooner, but things were a bit hectic."

Leonard blinked a couple of times and the world started to swim into focus. He was lying sideways on the couch in the doctor's lounge, and that was Nurse Aldrich talking to...

"Captain Pike," Leonard croaked as he tried to get up. However, instead of sitting up smoothly, his hand missed the edge of the couch. He rolled off the side and hit the floor with a thud. "Ow... dammit." Hands grabbed him under the arms from either side and hauled him gently back onto the couch, sitting upright this time. "Thanks, sir," he said, barely stifling a groan. He rubbed his face, trying to get the drug-induced drowsiness to go away. "That's what we get when they decide to dose me with a sedative-level of anxiolytics instead of letting me have my coffee."

Pike reached over to the table and picked up Leonard's canteen. "I figured you might need this." He held it in front of Leonard as he sat down heavily on the couch next to him.

Leonard gratefully accepted the canteen - the weight told him it was full - and the aroma of hot, fresh coffee greeted him. "Oh, sweet nectar of the gods," he mumbled, taking a sip.

Pike laughed dryly. "Nurse, just to let you know, you should never come between this man and his coffee."

Leonard glanced up above the rim of his canteen to see her shaking her head in exasperation, arms folded across her chest.

"I won't argue with that, Captain, but _you_ try dealing with that man frantic _and_caffeinated." She sighed and let her arms drop, looking squarely at Leonard. "Just don't give me a reason to dose you again, doctor. There's only so much adrenaline the body can take, got it?"

Instantly, Leonard felt himself stiffen, and he sat up straighter. "I'll stay calm if you give me an update. How's Jim? How long has be been in surgery?"

Nurse Aldrich pressed her lips together grimly, and for the second time in his life, Leonard knew what the families of his most serious patients must have felt when he was about to give them the news. He slid an inch closer to the edge of the couch. "I need to know."

She sat down on the coffee table to face him. "It's 1645 hours now, so it's been almost eight hours since he got here."

"You let me sleep that long?" Leonard all but snarled, and the anger in his voice surprised him.

"He's been in surgery this entire time. There was nothing you could have done. So what would you have done in my shoes? Let you go stir-crazy the entire time? I've met you, Leonard, in case you've forgotten, and you can't tell me you would have kept calm. Besides, I know how little sleep you've been getting this semester with that research project of yours. You needed that rest, and you know it."

"You're right," he grumbled. And really, it had been the most merciful thing she could have done, even though he still wasn't happy about it. "So... Jim?"

She tipped her head to the side and gave him a gentle look. "They've got him stabilized. They're working on less critical repairs now - more osteoplast work, fixing the smaller points of damage to his organs, spinal stabilization, preliminary dermal treatment. He should be done within the next hour based on the last report I got."

Leonard felt something snap, like a string that had been stretched too tight through his spine. "Thank God," he breathed, slumping just a bit, but then noticed that Aldrich still looked dead serious, and his own stomach knotted again. "What? What else?"

"The damage was bad, Leonard. They're going to keep him sedated for the next twenty-four hours... and then we'll see."

His fingers wrapped tighter around his coffee canteen, white-knuckled. A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and he was grateful for the support from Pike, but he didn't take his eyes off of Nurse Aldrich. "See what?"

"Whether he has any memory loss or mobility issues from the trauma to his central nervous system," she said flatly, clinically.

Pike shifted in his seat, and Leonard looked sideways at him.

"We got a preliminary report from the shuttle's on-board sensors from the Mars Orbiter," Pike started. "The shuttle was traveling at approximately six-hundred and eighty kilometers per hour when it made contact with the Martian surface." A vague hint of a smile, something like pride, barely broke through the grim mask he wore. "Kirk managed to feed the last remnants of the shuttle's power to the inertial dampeners just before impact. Eighty-one percent power. It's likely the only reason he's still alive. But the shuttle had a secondary impact, and it snapped his harness."

Leonard felt his eyes widen. "They told me that those things test to over two tons per strap!"

Pike nodded slowly. "They do."

Sinking slowly back against the couch cushions, Leonard shivered. "Jim..." He shook his head. "I... oh God, Jim."

Nurse Aldrich leaned closer to him, looking him over critically. "Doctor McCoy, are you going to be okay?"

"I have to be," he said, not quite making eye contact. "And I need to talk to Captain Pike alone now."

She stood, looking down at him with a disconcerting mix of firmness and sympathy. "You do what you need to do, but..." She gave Pike a level stare. "If you upset him, Captain, I _will _find out who's conducting your next physical. You read me?"

"Loud and clear." Pike smiled thinly and tossed a meek salute. She gave him a firm nod, then patted Leonard lightly on the shoulder before she turned and walked out of the doctor's lounge. As soon as the door clicked shut, Pike let out a tight breath. "That is one lady you should never cross, Doctor McCoy. Trust me - she would make good on that threat."

"I don't doubt it. She's a good nurse and trusted colleague," Leonard said, his voice thick in his throat. "And I hate to say it, but if I'd been in her shoes, I would have sedated me, too. It was probably the kindest thing she could have done." He sighed heavily, took another sip of coffee, then turned to look at Pike directly. "You said you needed to talk to me. I knew you'd be here anyway to check on Jim, but that's not the only reason you're here. What's going on, Captain?"

"You don't beat around the bush, do you? I respect that," Pike said evenly, before leaning forward heavily on his knees, hands clasped together. He gave Leonard a look that made his blood run like ice water. "The investigation into the crash started almost immediately. They've already retrieved most of the wreckage – what was left of it – and salvage teams are picking up the last pieces of the shuttle now."

"What are they saying caused the crash?" Leonard asked, his mouth feeling dry. He took another quick sip of coffee to wet his throat, but it only made him feel like he was going to choke on it. "Do they have any theories?"

"Nothing yet, McCoy. However..." His voice lowered a bit. "When I called the hospital, the report said that Kirk woke up briefly. I asked into it, and they said he spoke to you. Nobody else in the trauma room heard what he said, but I need to know if you caught anything significant. Anything at all."

Stomach doing somersaults, Leonard closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions. "Yeah," he said roughly. "I did." In Leonard's mind, there were many important things he heard in those few mumbled, dazed words that Jim had managed to get out before the anesthetic kicked in again, but only one that Pike needed to hear. "Sabotage. He said it was sabotage, and said there was something in the engine. Jim was dazed, yes, but he seemed absolutely set on that."

Pike nodded. "That's what the Mars Orbiter medics said, too - that Kirk said sabotage."

Leonard frowned, finally realizing the depth of what that must really imply. "But... who could have done it? The hangar is secure, right?"

"It's supposed to be secure." His voice was measured, cautious. Too cautious.

"Then who had access?" Leonard demanded, turning sideways in his seat. "There have to be access records. And there are holovid cameras throughout the facility."

Pike's face was carefully schooled into a neutral expression, but his eyes were burning. "There are."

"Then review the records!" The surge of adrenaline Leonard felt broke through the remaining haze of the anxiolytic in his bloodstream. "Check the holovid feed. It's got to be -"

"We will, McCoy. I guarantee, we will." His voice was level, low, and controlled. "But I needed to know what Kirk said, and I needed to hear it myself from someone I _trust_... before the investigation went any further." The pause in his words and the emphasis were blatant. "Can you guarantee me that he said it was sabotage while he was drugged and delirious?"

"Yes... why?"

"And _Doctor_," he stressed the title, "when a person is under the influence of that much pain and anesthesia drugs, what are the odds that he'd be able to consciously lie?"

"I'd call it impossible. Lying is a higher brain function, requiring complex thought and intent. With the drugs in Jim's system, and the amount of pain he must have been feeling, there's no way he could..." Leonard's voice trailed off, and his jaw went slack. A sick feeling twisted through his gut. _Good God, they might suspect Jim caused the crash_.

"Are you _sure_about that, McCoy?" Pike's eyes were like steel, but underneath it, there was a plea.

"Absolutely sure," Leonard said, putting every scrap of conviction he had into those two words.

Pike nodded slowly. "Would you be willing to state that before a board of inquiry if it comes down to that?"

"Of course." He forced himself to take a slow breath. "Captain... if it was sabotage... who might have done it?"

In a shift so subtle it might have been a trick of the imagination, some essential part of Pike's usual, unshakable certainty and confidence cracked and fell away. The lauded Starfleet officer was suddenly replaced by a man who looked just as lost as Leonard felt. "I only wish I knew, McCoy. I wish I knew."

Leonard tried to nod, opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing. He wished he knew as well. But for now, there were no answers. There was no brilliant doctor, no bold captain. There were only two men, sitting silently in an otherwise empty room, with nothing to do for the moment except to wait for the word that Jim had been snatched away from death's door, and would come out of this with his usual talent for beating impossible odds.

In the background, Leonard heard the coffee maker hiss with a puff of steam.

With a tight breath to match, he grabbed his coffee canteen and held it. He didn't want to drink it - his stomach was clenching nervously - but the warmth between his hands helped. Not much, but a little bit. He stared at it, not reacting at all as Pike shifted next to him, settling in for the wait. Pike could leave anytime, but Leonard knew he was going to stay until they heard… something. Amiable silence – he could handle that. And in the silence, Leonard's traitorous thoughts swirled around painfully.

What if Jim didn't make it? What if there was permanent damage? And how had everything changed so fast?

Leonard's thoughts were finally broken as the door to the doctor's lounge slid open, and Nurse Aldrich stuck her head into the room. "Doctor McCoy, I figured you'd want to know immediately - Kirk is out of surgery, and he's in the ICU now." Her face was solemn. "He's still unconscious, but you've got permission to go see him."

Leonard jumped out of the seat, barely remembering to set his coffee down on the table as he hurried towards the door. "Do you have his charts? Download them to my PADD. I want to see what -"

Aldrich stopped him at the door with one hand on his shoulder, blocking his exit. "You've got permission to see him, but not as his doctor."

"Then why the hell... ICU visitation is restricted. Doctors and family."

Her expression was pinched. "Leonard, you're the only person he listed as his next-of-kin."

Leonard stared at her, suddenly feeling like he'd hit a brick wall. "I... he listed me as his next-of-kin?"

She nodded, then looked at him with surprise. "You didn't know?"

He could only shake his head numbly. He knew the kid wasn't close to the scant biological family he had left, but he hadn't expected... couldn't really have known... could he? Maybe he should have known.

"You really shouldn't have been operating on him," she said softly. "You didn't have a choice, and you saved his life, Leonard, but for now... go and be his family."

Another hand settled on the back of Leonard's shoulder, and he turned to see Pike standing behind him.

"I need to go back to campus, McCoy, but you comm me if you need anything. You've been waived from your afternoon seminar, and I can get you a pass for your classes tomorrow. Got it?" He squeezed Leonard's shoulder once.

"Okay."

The halls of Starfleet Medical seemed foreign to Leonard, even though he'd been working there regularly for almost two months, and had even worked the occasional shift last spring. Cold floors and echoing footsteps and ergonomically designed walls meant to make the environment more peaceful only made it seem painfully false in the comfort it was supposed to provide. He walked just behind Nurse Aldrich, following her lead, unable to think beyond matching his footsteps to hers. Footsteps clacked against cold floors, in rhythm, like a heartbeat.

The footsteps finally stopped in front of a door. The privacy filter had been activated on the windows into the room, so he couldn't see Jim yet. Unable to wait, he started for the door, but Aldrich held him back. He raised an eyebrow, questioning her.

"Do you need some support, or do you want to go in alone?"

"Alone," he said automatically, even though he wasn't sure why he felt so certain.

"Okay then... page me if you need me."

And then the door was open, and Leonard was standing inside the room as the door slid shut, and there was Jim.

Or maybe, there was some shell of Jim, because if this was Jim, he'd be awake and alert and complaining about being stuck in a hospital and asking about sponge baths from pretty nurses. He'd point to the immobilization field generator on his left arm where the bones had been shattered and wonder aloud if this would get him some sympathy points with the instructors if his homework was late. He'd smirk and ask if he was allowed to have conjugal visits, seeing as at least _that_ hadn't been broken, all while making suggestive expressions with eyebrows. He'd suggest wheelchair races through the main corridor, just to see if he could get away with it. He'd grumble about the crash ruining his perfect record at the Academy, and would throw his pillow at Leonard and call it payback for the one Leonard had thrown at him last night and - _Goddammit, was that just last night?_

It _was_just last night. Barely more than twelve hours ago that Jim was hale and whole, all swaggering steps and sharp wit. Just last night, or maybe it was the wee hours of the morning, that Jim had woken Leonard up with his careless manner and casual assumption that Leonard wouldn't mind. At least, wouldn't mind much. And he hadn't minded. Not really.

And now Leonard knew he'd give anything for Jim to wake up and pester him. Any stupid thing, and it would be enough.

But Jim was fully sedated, and would be for at least another day, and after that... who knew how long it would take him to wake up? His breathing was being regulated by a respirator field, and Leonard was once again grateful for modern medicine - fifty years ago, the poor kid would have a tube down his throat. The skin on his face and hands was a vivid pink - the flash burns would need a couple more courses with a dermal regen field, but not the weeks of treatment it would have taken in centuries past. And the full-body field produced by the biobed was designed to stimulate cellular division and promote rapid recovery - an immensely effective tool for every organ and tissue that relied on cell division for healing.

That left, of course, the brain. Locked up in that box of bone and flesh was the one organ that still couldn't be regenerated or replaced, the one organ for which cell division was not the primary course of healing. That's where Jim was - trapped in those few pounds of brain tissue. Treatment for catastrophic brain injuries was far better, more detailed, cleaner, and more effective than it once was, but the simple fact remained that when the brain was involved, you really had no idea how bad it would be until the patient woke up. Even with all their advances, the greatest healer of all was the same as it had been for centuries: time.

And waiting was hell.

Somehow, Leonard's feet had taken him across the room to Jim's side. This is why he'd wanted to go in alone, he realized - because this was private. He hesitated for a moment, almost afraid to cross the imaginary barrier between them – what would make it real. Afraid to touch Jim, as if anything would cause him to break, like a soap bubble. But finally, he reached down and gently wrapped Jim's right hand in his. Absolutely limp - no squeeze, no simple twitch, no response. No Jim. And yet, as Leonard sat down in the chair by the biobed and felt the flood of silent tears finally spill over, he didn't let go.

.&.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't seem right that life would go on buzzing around him, Leonard thought as he grabbed a tray in the mess hall Thursday morning. He had classes all day. Jim was on the other side of San Francisco Bay at Starfleet Medical, unconscious, and either alone in a room or being taken into and out of surgery to do follow-up repair work, and Leonard had goddamned _classes_.

And just how was he supposed to concentrate? Cellular Biology of Non-Mammalian Humanoids - oh yeah, that was important when his best friend was on life support. Later, he had Interspecies Cultural Exchange... and sure, as a doctor, he'd have to learn how to demonstrate a bedside manner for sentient beings from all over the quadrant, but right now, there was only one bedside where he wanted to be. Basic Piloting and Engineering... the required idiot-course for the non-engineers and non-pilots who had to live and work on those _goddamned death traps they call starships. _

"Hey, are you just going to stand there?" an impatient male voice came from behind him. "You're holding up the -"

Leonard turned and offered the young human cadet the most devastating glare he could muster.

The kid went pale. "Sorry sir... I... uh. Apple." He reached around Leonard, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the breakfast bar, and hurried away as fast as he could.

Leonard watched him go, and glanced at the line that was backing up behind him. He didn't care to substantiate anything with words, so he lowered his eyebrows - _I dare you to mess with me today _- and continued down the bar at his own pace, gathering whatever food didn't turn his stomach. He didn't much care what he ate. It would all taste like sawdust anyway.

A couple of minutes later, he was sitting at a table in the far corner of the mess hall, working his way through a bowl of oatmeal, and half-listening to the news from the holovid screen on the wall. Nobody tried to sit with him, and he was grateful for that. In the mornings, the only person he could tolerate before his second canteen of coffee was Jim. That chair across from him had never looked emptier, and he'd never been less inclined to fill it.

Maybe he should skip his classes, he mused as he absently stirred his oatmeal. Could anybody blame him? Pike said he'd get the classes waived. But then, if he didn't go to class, what would he do all day? Go for a long contemplative walk through the city where something on every fucking block reminded him of Jim? Go over to Starfleet Medical and pace the hallway outside Jim's room until he drove Nurse Aldrich crazy and she hunted him down with a sedative? Try to review his next set of prototypes for his research project and start the modifications needed for the first round of live tests, expected to begin next semester...

Leonard dropped his spoon against the side of his breakfast bowl with a sharp clank. His devices had already _had_ their first live test. Untried, not ready, never cleared for use on humanoids, and he'd used them on Jim. _Jim_, of all people. At the time, he'd felt that he had no choice, but he'd used unapproved and untested devices on a live patient. Suddenly, what little appetite he'd had vanished, and he pushed back from the table, trying to remember to breathe evenly.

He'd be forced to delay the project. Sure, the first emergency use of the devices had actually been at least partially successful... but he'd broken every medical trial protocol in the book by using them like that. Jim wouldn't be the only one facing an investigation. Maybe they'd take extenuating circumstances into consideration, as well as the fact that the devices hadn't failed, but there was no guarantee. And then, even if they didn't cancel or delay the project, he wasn't going to be able to stomach it for a while, because he wouldn't be able to look at the damned things without seeing them pressed to Jim's forehead, drenched in blood. The image began to resolve itself in his mind, and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He couldn't keep thinking about this. Not now. He needed a distraction.

Willing himself to think about anything else, Leonard forced himself to look at the holovid screen and actually pay attention to the news.

The installation of an updated weather control grid in Southeast Asia was proceeding on schedule, and the yearly monsoon season would be properly regulated. _Good news_, Leonard though with some sense of detached relief. He grabbed his canteen of coffee - not the replicated sludge they served in the mess hall, but the brew he'd made with his own machine and real coffee beans and _Thank you, Captain Pike_. The coffee brewer Pike had given him after last year's fiasco had gotten more than its fair mileage, and Leonard suspected it would be set on overdrive until this current debacle was over. Vaguely, he wondered if Pike had learned anything new in the investigation, but Leonard forcibly pulled his thoughts back to the newscast.

A Therbian delegation would be presenting a series of lectures on vivo-biochemistry at the Federation Life Sciences complex in Brazil. Leonard took another slow sip of coffee and wondered if he could get the notes from the lecture. The eighty-seventh annual Young Physicists Nanotechnology Expo would be held in Toronto this year. Leonard smiled - it was amazing what kids were creating these days. The Federation's credit system was being recalibrated to adjust for the confirmation of three new planets and their sentient inhabitants into the membership. Starfleet was vetting four engineering groups who were presenting new impulse drive designs for the next set of engine refits for the fleet.

Leonard got a slight twinge in his gut and held his coffee cup tighter as the woman on the screen continued to talk.

"_This couldn't come at a better time, or perhaps a worse time, for Starfleet. While the refit of the fleet's warp engines began almost two years ago, there has been constant debate about the newer impulse engine design. For months, engineers have been discussing possible instability issues in the current design of sub-warp engines. Although there had been no significant documented problems to motivate a new selection in sub-warp drive technology for the continued refits, that may have all changed. The first fatal training accident in three decades has been confirmed by Starfleet Academy."_

Unable to take his eyes from the screen, Leonard reached over and put his canteen on the table before he dropped it.

_"Following an engine malfunction and complete systems failure, a training shuttle carrying two cadets crashed into the surface of Mars while doing a routine set of piloting maneuvers. One cadet was killed in the accident, and the other is in stable but serious condition at Starfleet Medical. Their names are being withheld for privacy reasons."_

Leonard's hands clenched into fists in his lap. Not a fucking moment of peace. No, here it was, plastered brazenly all over the news vids. _Those bastards sure as hell better keep Jim's name private_, he thought vehemently.

_"The cause of the engine malfunction is still under investigation, but Starfleet officials have noted that the upgrade in engine systems is long overdue._"

The woman kept talking, but Leonard didn't want to hear it. Not a word of it. A simple engine malfunction? No, Jim had said sabotage. He _saw_something in the engine, and this newscaster's uninformed, speculative, simplistic media blurb wasn't going to gloss over the fact that something big had happened.

"_In the immediate aftermath of this crash, a statement attributed to the group Terra Prime has been received by news sources, claiming that this crash is further evidence that human beings should not be traveling into space. However, they have not claimed responsibility for causing the crash, leading to speculation from various analysts. After last year's attempted bombing at Starfleet Academy, verbal threats have been issued several times, but no actions have been taken. For more on that story -"_

No, Leonard _definitely_ didn't want to hear another goddamned word of that story, thank you very much. Speculation. Yeah, they could speculate all they wanted to, but not until Jim was awake and alert and had said his piece, and _goddammit, Jim_. With a growl and a lurch, he was out of his chair, ready to grab his tray and bolt from the mess hall, but instead, he almost collided with a cadet who had apparently been standing right next to his chair.

Leonard backpedaled and almost tripped over his chair, glaring angrily at the petite Asian woman. "What the - don't sneak up on a man!" He quickly sidestepped and straightened himself up, noting that it wasn't just the cadet he'd nearly collided with, but three others standing off to the side who were watching him with some sort of anticipation. Not feeling particularly cordial, the only thing he could think to say was, "What the hell do you want?"

"We know you're friends with Jim Kirk," she said, and there was something disconcerting in her voice.

Leonard felt his shoulders clench, just a bit. "Yeah, I am." He shot her a skeptical look. "But you don't know me, so what do you care?"

She looked back over her shoulder at the other cadets - another human female, a human male, and an Andorian Thaan - then turned back to Leonard and took a bracing breath. "I'm Cadet Okoru. We're the rest of Kirk's flight squad. We were in the other two shuttles yesterday." She swallowed, and for the first time, Leonard noticed that her eyes were red and puffy, set in a face that looked too pale and drawn with lines of tension that looked too old for a face that young. "They told us that Tambe didn't make it, but that Kirk was alive. They wouldn't tell us anything else. We... we thought you might know... how is he doing?"

The fire went out of Leonard's argument so fast he almost felt like he was physically deflating. Grimacing, he looked over at the chronometer on the wall. 0718 hours. More than forty minutes before his first class. With a sigh, he nudged out the chair next to his own with his foot, jerked his head towards the table as a blunt invitation, then sat down.

It was almost instinctual - sit down with the friends and family of the patient and give them the news, for better or for worse. Tell them about their loved one. Distance himself from the emotions of the situation so that the other people could cry in either sorrow or relief. However, when the other four cadets were seated, the emotional distance between himself and his patient didn't appear. It couldn't. Not with Jim. So Leonard leaned his elbows on the table, looked around at the tight, weary faces of Jim's squad mates, and lied through his teeth.

"Jim's fine."

.&.

He wasn't sure why he said it, not really. Maybe he knew that Jim wouldn't want people to know how bad it was. The kid _did_ hate looking vulnerable in front of people, after all, and he had an insane tendency to brush off everything as nothing. He was just doing what Jim would want him to do. Perhaps it was because Leonard was still stuck on the idea of sabotage, and if Jim had been targeted by _anyone_, if it got out how weak he was, someone might try to finish the job before Jim could wake up and testify... _Goddammit, what did he see in the engine of that shuttle?_Maybe it was because Leonard still didn't really know how bad it was - wouldn't know until Jim woke up - and if he admitted how bad it might be, it would make it too real... too fucking real.

Either way, after fifteen minutes of downplaying the severity of Jim's injuries - _yes, he's injured, and recovery will take a while, but he'll be fine_ - and listening to brief stories about Jim's antics as part of Nova Squadron, Leonard had to escape. These kids were certainly worried about Jim, and they really seemed to care about him, but they didn't know _Jim_. Not really. They knew the Cadet Kirk that Jim let the rest of the world see, and they were part of his team, and they were hurting. But they couldn't hurt the same way he did.

That first cadet, Okoru, seemed pretty shaken up, and he couldn't blame her - apparently she was the one who had asked whether they could safely complete the maneuver, and was still replaying that conversation in her head. And to add to the distress, she was the Assistant Squad Leader, which put her in charge now.

But really, they were all taking it pretty hard. The other woman, d'Eon, wasn't saying much, and seemed to be holding herself together by a thread. The Andorian, Thaleb, seemed more angry than anything else, but it seemed reasonable for an Andorian. He trusted his squadmates' abilities, and was convinced that Kirk and Tambe had been sabotaged - a heinous, cowardly act. It was all Leonard could do not to overtly agree with him. Freeman seemed lost for something to do; agitated and helpless. Hell, Leonard could certainly sympathize with that.

It didn't help that random people kept looking at him oddly as he hurried across the campus to his first class. He couldn't figure out why until he recognized the looks they were giving him: pity.

_Fuck... they all know I'm friends with Jim._Leonard generally kept to himself, and he liked it that way, but Jim knew everyone. Everyone knew Jim. Most everyone liked Jim. And by extension, everyone probably knew that Jim's best friend was a cranky old doctor that he kept calling Bones.

By the time he made it to his Interspecies Cultural Exchange class, he felt like he'd been through a gauntlet and was happy to hide in the back of the class and pretend to listen to the lecture.

Nearly four hours later, Leonard emerged from his Cellular Biology lab with the distant knowledge that he hadn't really learned a thing that day. The comparative slides of alien epithelial tissues all blended together in his mind, and he needed to go hide from humanoid contact until his Basic Engineering and Piloting class. They'd just started the unit on propulsion essentials.

Leonard hated being anywhere near the damned shuttles and ship engines, but every officer needed to know the raw basics. At least the young Lieutenant who was teaching the engineering portion of the class seemed to love engines the same way Leonard loved medical science, and he could respect that. And really, if nothing else, it might give him some clue of what to look for if he helped Jim investigate this mess, so he might as well go to the class. It would feel useful, in some bizarre way.

Basic Engineering classes were held in one of the lab buildings directly adjacent to the hangar down on East Campus. Rather than work his way through the crowds in the mess hall or student center, Leonard decided to hide from the world down at the old Warming Hut. It was convenient. Plus, they made a decent chicken salad and a more-than-adequate cup of coffee.

His feet carried him down the paths from the Presidio to East Campus and out onto Crissy Field. The sky was gray, the wind had a bite to it, and the fog itself seemed to be seeping into his bones.

_All I've got left is my bones_. Jim had teased him for that. _Jim_.

Finally, he arrived at the Warming Hut, a building that had lived long past practicality, but still served hot beverages to wind-chilled beach-goers at the western end of Crissy Field as it had for almost three hundred years. He pushed through the squeaky door. The weathered floor and wooden construction looked odd in contrast to the modern buildings visible through the old glass windows. The air even smelled older somehow, a bit like the house he'd grown up in.

Patchy fog drifted across the bay as he stared out the old-style glass windows, and the dusty smell of real wood combined with the aroma of toasting bread, reminding him too much of something out of his childhood. And here he was, years later and so much distance away, sitting in San Francisco as a member of Starfleet... feeling just as small and clueless as he'd felt decades ago.

Only now, there was no safety net. No blissful ignorance of youth. There was only the cold glass and patches of fog spanning the gap between his seat in the Warming Hut and the venerable structure of the main building of Starfleet Medical, barely visible across the bay.

Leonard scowled down at the rest of his chicken sandwich as his last vestiges of appetite laughed at him and disappeared.

It was still too early for class, but at least he could head over to the Engineering lab and start reviewing shuttlecraft schematics. Loathesome topic, particularly right now, but he had to do it.

Depositing the rest of his lunch in the reprocessor unit, he pushed out through the door and bent his head into the wind. Even with the hill of the Presidio blocking the worst brunt of the weather, it was an unpleasant day – clammy and raw. He clenched his teeth and tried to ignore the chill as he hurried towards the gate to East Campus.

He almost didn't realize that the security guard at the gate was talking to him until the man's arm physically blocked his path. He looked up, blinked, and asked, "I'm sorry... what?"

The security guard blew out an exasperated breath. "I said that the hangar is restricted right now, Cadet. No access."

Leonard blinked again, feeling stupid. "I'm not going to the hangar. I have class in the Engineering building in a half hour."

But the guard shook his head, looking more irritated by the minute. "Sorry, Cadet. Haven't you paid any attention to the campus-wide notices? All classes and flight sessions down here are canceled. The whole complex is restricted until further notice for the investigation."

Leonard felt his eyes go wide. _Of course, you idiot_, he thought to himself. "Oh... because of the crash, right?"

"They're combing the hangar for clues as well as using the labs building for investigative work," he said with a sarcastic nod, then shook his head again in amusement, "Well, at least there's some sign that you haven't been living under a rock for the past two days."

In an instant, the mental fog lifted, making way for something sharp and angry. "No, sir. Not under a rock. But I've spent most of the past two days at Starfleet medical, trying to put the real damage from that crash back together. Body parts are a bit more touchy than glorified chunks of metal."

The guard's jaw dropped slightly. "Oh... I..."

"Yeah," Leonard cut him off, feeling vindictive. The anger felt good. "So forgive me for forgetting that the rest of campus is more worried about the scraps from that flying tin can than the guy who was flying it."

The slack of the guard's jaw instantly tightened. "Cadet... we're all worried about Kirk. I'm sorry." His mouth twisted. "You're his doctor?"

Leonard started to nod, but then shook his head. Sure, he'd worked on Jim as a physician, but that wasn't a fraction of the truth. And _friend _didn't cover it either. No, Jim had named him as next-of-kin. The kid was family. Leonard gave the security guard a grim look. "His brother." It was the closest word he had for it.

The guard opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut again and gave a sympathetic nod. Leonard thought it might have been his imagination, but it looked like the guy's eyes were a bit tight and strained. He nodded again. "I'm sorry," he said, softer this time.

Leonard gave an uneasy tilt of his head. "Yeah. Me, too."

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in a way he couldn't quite comprehend, Leonard turned on his heel and hurried off towards the main campus, feeling even more lost than before. It would be over two hours until his afternoon lab session. More empty time to fill. Too much time, and too much emptiness.

He was almost all the way to the bend around the path that would take him towards the main campus when he looked back at the hangar building. It was a massive structure that always gave him the chills... mostly because it was full of those deathtraps they called shuttlecrafts. It was no less chilling now – in fact, it was severely more unnerving – but this time, he also felt a desperate need to be _there_, at that very moment. There was an investigation going on behind the walls of that building... an investigation that should uncover the truth behind what happened to Jim. And whatever it took, damning anything and anyone that got in his way, Leonard McCoy needed to know.

Narrowing his eyes at the gray walls of the hangar, he nodded once, then walked away.

.&.

The halls of Starfleet Medical were almost oppressively quiet as Leonard walked past the front admin desk. They knew him well enough that the woman at the desk just waved him through. He stopped at the nurse's desk in the intensive care unit and found Nurse Patel.

"How's he doing?" Leonard knew he didn't need to specify whom.

Patel looked up from the computer terminal, from which she was monitoring patient stats. "As well as can be expected. He had the spinal stabilization procedure as scheduled, plus some regen therapy during the day. Everything went very well. He hasn't destabilized, but he's been unconscious the whole time." She sounded detached and professional. Leonard knew that tone of voice - he used it with patients' families. He'd never realized how horrible it sounded from the other side.

"Details?" He squeezed his hands into fists, then forced himself to relax them again. "Come on, I know I'm not his doctor and I know I've been taken off this case, but at least tell me what's been going on as if I know more than the average lay person."

For a moment, she looked at him sympathetically, then let out a heavy breath. "I shouldn't be doing this," she said in an undertone as she tapped a few controls on her computer terminal, "but it's easier than answering a hundred questions. There, I've given you access to his chart. _Read-only_. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Leave your med kit here at the desk."

Leonard wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that no self-respecting doctor went anywhere without basic equipment. There was no reason on earth for him to leave his equipment behind. Besides, it wasn't as if he was going to treat Jim. He just _always _carried his med kit. And besides, if something went wrong, and Jim started to have some sort of complication, what was he going to do without... "Oh." Then again, maybe she was right. "Okay." He set his kit behind the desk, trying to ignore the hot flush of undefined emotions eating at the edge of his consciousness. "Anything else?"

"Yes... they took him off the sedatives an hour ago."

Leonard felt his heart jump as he pulled his PADD out of his bag and called up Jim's chart, skimming through notes and scans recorded over the past twenty hours. "Has he shown any signs of consciousness since then?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, Doctor McCoy. But these things take time."

"I know," he grumbled, quickly catching up with Jim's current stats, then finally looking back at the nurse. "Yeah, I know. But thank you for this." He held up his PADD meaningfully.

"Sure," Patel said with a note of resignation. "Just don't push _my _luck, okay?"

Leonard nodded firmly. "I owe you."

"You bet you do."

Turning away, Leonard took one last glimpse at his PADD before tucking it under his arm. He actually felt nervous approaching Jim's door. The previous night, when he'd sat by Jim's bedside until Nurse Aldrich had come in and threatened him with sedation if he didn't go home and get some sleep, he'd still been in something like a state of shock the whole time. None of it had quite seemed real. It was real now, and there was no way to avoid this reality.

And last night, Jim had been intentionally sedated - he was _supposed _to be asleep. But now, they'd stopped administering the sedatives, and those perpetually mischievous, eternally sharp eyes should be opened, waiting for him when he walked into the room. And the door to the room was opening, and Jim was there, but his eyes were closed, and he was silent. Too goddamned silent. Even unconscious, his face seemed tense, uneasy, troubled.

Leonard walked to the chair by Jim's bedside and sat down resignedly. "Hey kid."

Jim didn't twitch, but Leonard hadn't expected it. Still, he knew that familiar voices were helpful and soothing, even if a patient was unconscious. Besides, he needed to talk.

"Haven't been able to think straight all day. You sure do know how to make a man worry, you know?" He watched Jim's face with the absolutely futile hope that the kid would open his eyes, wink, smirk, blink, flinch... _anything_. No, his face was motionless. And bruised. God damn... the bruising on Jim's face... it was horrible. "You still don't know how to do anything in half-measure, do ya, Jim? I told you that bruises aren't a good look on you. That was a pretty spectacular trauma scene you caused. You can brag about it later, if you want. And you owe me a new set of scrubs."

Leaning against the side of the bed, Leonard folded his arms beneath his chin and looked up at Jim. Instinctively, part of him wanted to really check Jim's vitals from head to toe, try an extra round of regen therapy, see if there was anything he could do to make Jim wake up faster, but he knew that he shouldn't. Not this time. After a point, a patient needed nothing more and nothing less than pure rest. And waiting helplessly was maddening.

Leonard sighed. "Yeah, you've pretty much got me worried sick. I had to take a sedative last night to get to sleep. Not gonna do that tonight. Those were some nightmares I'd rather not relive. I'm probably not going to sleep right until you wake up. Hell, you can even wake me up in the middle of the night to pester me anytime you want." He felt his breath hitch, and had to look away, staring at his hands that he was clenching together furiously.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I sent you out like that yesterday morning, kid. I didn't mean it like that. God, I hope you know I didn't mean it like that. And you know you can always come to me. I hope you know that." He looked up again, feeling a pang of anxiety. "You have to know that."

Of course, Jim said nothing. Not even a twitch.

Leonard stared at Jim for a long moment, eyes tracing down to Jim's motionless hand nestled at his side, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming need to squeeze it to reassure himself that Jim was warm and alive; to grasp Jim's wrist so he could feel that pulse beneath his fingertips; to squeeze harder, and shake the kid until he'd wake up and complain about Bones snapping him out of a dream involving scantily clad Orion women. Anything to make the stillness go away, and to reassure himself that there was still life under that statue-like form lying on the biobed.

Of course, despite his wrung-out emotions, he was still a doctor, and the biobed readout should have been enough reassurance that Jim was alive and stable. Besides, the last thing Jim needed, physically at least, was for anyone to jostle him. His spine and pelvis were still too unstable. With a barely-patched radius and ulna, it was probably better if Leonard didn't put any pressure on Jim's arm, either. The artificial osteoblast cells that were rapidly rebuilding bone mass worked better if left alone and not disturbed between sessions with the regen field. Hands off. That was best.

The biobed was supporting Jim's respiration, stimulating soft tissue regeneration, regulating his blood pressure, monitoring his heartbeat... and all Leonard could do was sit there and watch helplessly, waiting. Somewhere behind those eyelids, Jim was in there. Maybe he'd open his eyes soon, maybe he wouldn't. Even modern medicine couldn't fix everything, couldn't predict everything.

And even modern medicine couldn't replace the human touch.

He tentatively ran his hand over Jim's arm. Then, gently, ever so gently, avoiding the osteo-immobilizer unit just above Jim's wrist and the IV in his hand, Leonard wrapped his fingers around Jim's and squeezed lightly. "It's okay, kid. I'll be here when you wake up."

Maybe it was his imagination, but Jim seemed to relax slightly, and Leonard thought he heard a soft sigh. It wasn't much, but it made something in Leonard's chest ache. "Rest easy, Jim."

Leonard lost track of time as he sat there. He rambled about classes and taking a trip to Georgia and maybe letting Jim drag him to the Sierra Nevada range on their next weekend of leave as he watched the sky slowly go dark outside the window of Jim's room. The colors of the sunset were hidden by the fog, and the bridge and Starfleet Academy across the bay were likewise shrouded, but at least the fog was familiar. It felt like a cocoon around the small ICU room, secluded from the rest of the world as darkness fell around them.

And then the door slid open, breaking the cocoon and startling Leonard out of his own personal fog. He shook his head as he dropped Jim's hand, blinking in surprise at the person standing in the doorway. "Wha... Commander Toland?"

"Relax, McCoy." Her voice was soft as she moved as if to step into the room, then hesitated. "I wanted to see how he was doing. May I come in?"

Leonard hadn't seen the woman in months, since his clinic and research schedule had taken him away from acting as duty doctor for training simulations. They were far from friends, but after what he'd learned about the past Toland shared with Jim, he respected her a bit more. And he knew that she had the same respect for Jim in turn. Then he frowned. "Wait... this is the ICU. Only family and people the patient had previously listed as contacts should be able to come in."

Nurse Aldrich's face appeared around the edge of the doorframe. "That's why I told her to ask you," she said flatly, "and she knows I'll escort her right back out if you want me to."

Toland gave him a meaningful look.

"Oh." Letting out a slow breath, he finally nodded. "Sure, have a seat."

Aldrich nodded once in approval, then disappeared. Toland stepped up to the foot of Jim's bed, but didn't sit. "I won't stay for long, but I needed to check in on him myself. After last year... well, I can tell you that you and Captain Pike aren't the only people looking out for Kirk. I got the full preliminary incident report from the crash." Her jaw visibly clenched. "I'd say it's amazing he lived through it, but I think we've gotten to the point where we should never put anything past him."

Leonard glanced at Jim, then back up at Toland. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Has he woken up yet?"

"No." The word almost stuck in Leonard's throat. "He's not technically comatose, but... we'll see."

She grimaced. "Better than it could have been, I guess. I heard he wouldn't have made it at all without you."

A weak shrug was the best he could manage. "I was there. That's all."

"Well, a lot of us are glad you were there." A pained smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "I'm sure Kirk will be, once he wakes up."

"Yeah." The word felt like sawdust in his throat.

If Toland sensed his discomfort, she didn't draw attention to it. Instead, she nodded her head towards the door. "Has anyone else been in to see him?" There was an odd note to her voice; something was off.

"Not since I got here," he said slowly, suddenly uncertain. "But if they're having people like you ask my permission, I can't think of anyone else other than Captain Pike who could possibly have been allowed in. Why?"

Toland shook her head. "Just wondering."

Leonard didn't believe that for a minute. Toland was not a person inclined to mince words, waste questions, or resort to small talk. "Commander, what's going on?"

Her face was hard, but her eyes were worried. It was disconcerting. "I wish I could say, McCoy."

Oddly, _that _was something Leonard was sure she meant, even though he wasn't quite sure why, but he was just as certain that it wouldn't do him a bit of good to call her on it. He let out a slow breath, considering what to say. "Do you want me to tell you if he wakes up?"

She opened her mouth, and the _yes _seemed to be ready to jump off her tongue, but suddenly, she shook her head. "Tell Pike, not me. In fact, don't tell Kirk I was here."

"Commander?" Leonard didn't like this. Not one bit.

For a moment, Toland looked at him, her face utterly unreadable, but then she pressed her lips together grimly. "I'm sorry, McCoy. I'm really sorry. And I only wish I could tell Kirk."

An unsettled feeling twisted Leonard's stomach. "Tell him what?"

She only shook her head, and patted the foot of the biobed. "Take care of him, okay?"

Leonard could only nod dumbly as she turned and walked out the door. It was a long time before he moved again, and then, it was only to wrap his hand around Jim's.

.&.

"So... the lateral sensor array feeds information directly to the navigational computers via the... the... primary core relay?" Leonard's neck and shoulders were sore and bunched as he leaned over the engine schematic display panel in the theoretical engineering lab. He'd barely had a wink of sleep the night before, sprawled awkwardly in a chair by Jim's biobed, but he wasn't about to miss his appointment for this tutoring session. Not today. Not after the canceled class from yesterday. He glanced sideways at the instructor for Basic Engineering, looking for some sign of approval that maybe he'd gotten it right.

The instructor was a young Lieutenant who didn't look old enough to be an assistant instructor for a general introductory course, much less the one of the two actual professors, but the man seemed brilliant, if unorthodox. He reminded Leonard of Jim in that way. Leonard liked the guy.

The Lieutenant also made a point of running extra instructional sessions for his academic units. Leonard had been the only one to show up for the extra instruction more than once, so it quickly turned to one-on-one tutoring sessions. It was a bit less nerve-wracking to deal with his own academic shortcomings when he wasn't in a classroom full of snot-nosed cadets ten years his junior who made it look easy. And the Lieutenant didn't make him feel like a fish out of water, trying to learn this stuff.

_Now, if only this class's flight instructor will help me as much as the engineering instructor,_Leonard thought cynically, but he couldn't count on it. They'd be starting to fly the shuttles soon, not just studying shuttle schematics, and Captain Sullivan would head up that portion of the course. He seemed nice enough, but that didn't mean he was going to be able to spend time doing extra one-on-one flight training with aviophobic students. For now, Leonard would just take what he could get.

Still, the instructor shook his head and leaned over the shuttlecraft schematic, patiently tracing his finger along the diagram. "Nae, laddie, look again. The lateral sensors connect to the nav computers externally to the main core." Lieutenant Scott's thick accent was oddly soothing, and it made this entire class easier to stomach. "If yeh look here, the core components, such as the primary core relay circuits, all communicate within this zone, inside the core itself. Ach, it would be a bit easier to show yeh on a real shuttle, but that won't be happenin' for a few days yet." The last bit came out with a faint growl that had Leonard raising an eyebrow.

Scott waved off the implied inquiry. "These theoretical labs weren't designed for basic instruction. Just the best we can do for now." Then he gave Leonard a thoughtful look. "You're a doctor when yer not sweating about being stuck around engines and space flight, aren't yeh, McCoy?"

Leonard nodded.

"Aye, then try to think of this like a man's brain." He placed his hand flat over the central computer portions of the diagram. "Here ye have the nav computer, internal engine processors, data core, life support regulators. That's all the central core... like a brain."

"And the nerve connections between different regions of the brain are like the primary core relay. Makes sense," Leonard said with a nod, starting to understand the analogy.

"Good. So if yeh have a set of sensors... say like yer hands... those signals travel to the brain by the major nerves, don't they?"

Leonard couldn't help but smile faintly. "So peripheral nerves... peripheral data relays."

Lieutenant Scott broke into a wide grin. "See doctor? We'll make an engineer out of you yet."

"God, I hope not."

"It's not so different from taking care of people, McCoy." Scott straightened up and looked away from the engine schematic diagram and gazed at the image of a Constitution Class starship set in a large frame on the far wall of the lab. There was a fond wistfulness in his eyes. "A ship has a personality. She's made of parts, yes, but since when is anything just the sum of its parts?"

Leonard felt the faint smile falter, remembering the brief unit on transporter system basics they'd covered last month. "Seeing as we could all be reduced to nothing more than sub-atomic particles and fed through a pattern buffer, I guess I'll have to agree with you."

"Aye," Scott said, and the expression on his face became almost reverent. "Treat a ship like a lady, and she'll always bring you home. You remember that now, yeh hear?"

_But what if the ship doesn't come home?_ Gritting his teeth, Leonard stood back from the display panel and squared himself towards Scott. Enough with the regular coursework; there were more important issues to tackle. Bracing himself, Leonard cleared his throat. "I will. But that reminds me... I've got a question for you." He leaned heavily on the schematic display panel. _  
_  
"Fire away, laddie," Scott said invitingly. "That's what a tutoring session is for, isn't it now?"

Leonard took a breath. "Impulse engines," he said – and apparently it was all he had to say.

Scott's face changed abruptly, switching from his usual impish expression to something darker. "Trying to understand what happened on Wednesday?"

Not trusting his voice, Leonard gave a tight nod.

"So are a lot of folks 'round here," Scott said, quieter now. "It's an ugly thing, McCoy. My heart goes out to those poor buggers' families."

Leonard flinched sharply, trying to block the images that threaten to come flooding back: Jim, motionless on a biobed, nothing like he should be. "Yeah," he choked out.

"And then," Scott continued, with an added sharpness to his voice, "those blasted engineering companies are back again, using this tragedy to press us into letting them refit our ships even sooner – as if Starfleet engineers aren't already the best there are. They're talking as if a cadet's death was down to Starfleet incompetence. Bloody parasites." He spat that last word with a smattering of vitriol.

"Yeah," Leonard said again, almost feeling the bile rising in his throat, and he had to swallow it back.

"All right there, McCoy?" Frowning, Scott studied his face a bit closer. "This isn't just curiosity, is it? This is personal."

Leonard looked back at him tightly for a moment before nodding. "You're an astute man, Lieutenant Scott," he said roughly, then he paused and considered his options. It was a risk, but if Leonard had any skill whatsoever for reading people, he'd guess that Scott could be trusted. That's why he'd meant to ask him about this in the first place. In the weeks that he'd been meeting Scott for extra instruction, just so he could keep up with this god-forsaken class about these goddamned death traps, he'd gotten the impression that this was a man who wouldn't be afraid to bend the rules for what he felt was right. Sometimes, he thought the guy would even bend the laws of physics to get around a problem. _Jim would like him_, Leonard thought wistfully. If anyone would be able to help Leonard start to unravel this puzzle, this was the man. Nodding to himself once, he went with his gut instinct. "Can you keep this conversation private?"

Eyes absolutely solemn, Scott held up his hand. "From one Scotsman to another."

Leonard snorted. "I'm from Georgia."

The other man shrugged. "Yeh never lose yer name, McCoy." His face became dead serious. "So what's eatin' you?"

Leonard took a bracing breath. "I may or may not know a bit more about the shuttle crash than most of the folks around here. And I may or may not be friends with the kid who survived it."

Scott's eyes went wide. "So you're the good doctor who's friends with Jim Kirk, aren't yeh? And don't look so surprised, McCoy. People talk. I should've put it together. Nae, I've not met the lad myself, but I can keep my ears open as well as I can keep my mouth shut. There are plenty of rumors. Is Kirk all right?"

Leonard nodded dismissively - the question was unavoidable, but it wasn't why he brought it up with Lieutenant Scott. "He'll recover, but it will take time. We've got a different problem that I'd like to solve right now."

"Yeh want to know what made the shuttle's engines fail," Scott filled in for him. Leonard nodded, but Scott shook his head. "Impossible, laddie. I can turn a ship's engines inside out and put them back together again in my sleep, but without the data from the flight recorder... and that's classified... there's no way to know."

"I've got it."

Scott's mouth dropped open with an unspoken question, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, a split-second before his expression morphed into a grin like the cat that caught the canary. "I won't ask how yeh got it, but I'm guessin' yer not supposed to."

"It wasn't classified when I received it," Leonard said dryly.

"Aaaah. So no classified materials were technically transferred, right? Then no rules were broken," he said conspiratorially. "And... might I ask... is there a reason we'd be launching our own little investigation?"

Leonard opened his mouth, but held back. Really, he had no logical reason. There was an official investigation going on, and those people were far more qualified to figure out a mystery like this... but he couldn't leave it alone. So, he fixed Scott with the most sincere, determined look he could muster. "Because I need to know what happened to my friend, I'm just not willing to leave it to chance that someone else might fuck it up." The unspoken implication, _because I don't even trust Starfleet's best with anything that involves Jim_, hung in the air.

A look of understanding crossed Scott's face. "Aye, I'll take it at that."

"We're still confidential?"

"I'd swear it on the Highlands themselves, and my last bottle of Scotch."

"That's a pretty serious oath."

"I'd give yeh nothing less, McCoy."

With an odd feeling, something like hope, Leonard bent down and pulled his PADD out of his messenger bag. A moment later, he and Lieutenant Scott were bent over his PADD, whispering conspiratorially, intently watching every second of the flight recorder feed. Leonard relayed what he already knew, but it was all there in the PADD's internal database. Chain of events, the drops in efficiency, the involvement of the inertial dampeners, and the system-wide failure. It was like going over a patient's history, only with a shuttlecraft instead. _Maybe this guy's right - a ship is a bit like a patient_. Symptoms, complications, diagnoses. He watched Scott's eyes, and could almost see the calculations and theories spinning there. When the recording ended, Scott shifted, sighed, and looked dimly across the lab with an air of pained longing.

"I haven't got anything certain for yeh, McCoy... but I've got some ideas." His mouth twisted grimly. "And I don't like a damned one of them."

.&.

**AUTHOR NOTES**: Thanks for reading! Between working full time and going to EMT school, I'm pretty busy, but I promise to post at least two chapters (maybe three) a week until it's done. Stay tuned, and let me know if you're enjoying the story!


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES:** I'm trying to keep up with posting a chapter every couple of days, but I've been really busy. I promise, they're still coming! Stay tuned! Remember, the story is complete, so there's no risk that I'll leave you hanging. And now, back to the story...

.&.

"Bones... Tambe... the engines... sabotage..."

Jim was groaning in his sleep again, and it was all Leonard could do not to let himself get his hopes up that it was an actual sign of progress. Jim had spent part of the day back in surgery, having nerve reconstruction done on his lower spine, and the rest of the day being wheeled from one therapeutic treatment to another. Leonard knew it was just as well that Jim hadn't been awake for any of it, really, but dammit, he just wanted the kid to wake up.

On any other Friday night, he and Jim might be out at a local bar for a couple of drinks and some easy relaxation. Or maybe Jim would be getting ready for a weekend training drill, and Leonard would be working an extra clinic shift. Or maybe... something else. Anything else. Instead, Leonard was back at Starfleet Medical, sitting by Jim's bedside, and was reaching over to take Jim's hand again.

He'd spent the better part of the evening telling Jim random stories, playing holovids, and even reading homework assignments aloud from Jim's course catalogue. Occasionally, Jim would shift uncomfortably in his sleep, mumbling to himself, but there was nothing coherent.

Years of psych courses told Leonard that his own behavior was bordering on self-punishment, but he didn't particularly give a damn at the moment. It was also selfish - he needed the reassurance of seeing Jim for himself, hearing the steady beep of the monitors, watching the rise and fall of Jim's chest.

"Easy, Jim. Rest easy." He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, watching Jim's eyes flutter without any real sign of awareness, trying to remember that Jim might or might not be able to hear him. For all he knew, the kid was still tightly locked in his own nightmares. Still, Leonard kept on. "It's okay, kid. You're safe. You're at Starfleet Medical."

"No... Tambe. Gotta check... engines. Shouldn't be there, Tambe. Bones... Bones..."

For the past few hours, Jim's consciousness level had cycled up and down, each time climbing slightly higher. It was a good sign, but still, there was no way to know when he'd finally break through. Leonard was determined to be there when it happened. "I'm here, Jim. I've got you." He'd repeated those words so many times, and he'd keep repeating them until Jim could consciously answer him.

"Bones... said... don't come... crying..."

Of all the things Jim kept repeating in his delirium, that was the worst, and it cut like a knife each time. Leonard just squeezed Jim's hand a little bit tighter. "I shouldn't have said that, Jim. I didn't mean it like that. You can always come to me." He sighed. "I just wish you would now."

Jim's eyes fluttered. Blinked. Then, just slightly, Jim turned his head. For a moment, his eyes focused. "Bones?"

In a heartbeat, Leonard's mouth went dry. "Jim?" He leaned closer. "Are you there, kid? Can you see me?"

Jim blinked a couple more times, eyes swimming in and out of focus, then slowly, confusion bled into panic. "Bones!" The exclamation was weak but drenched in raw anxiety. "Bones, where am I? The shuttle... I was... what was I doing? Where am I?"

The surge of relief that Jim might actually be aware this time was immediately dulled by the biobed monitors that started beeping faster. "Jim, you're at Starfleet Medical. You crashed, but we got you out. You're okay. You just need to relax."

"I... Starfleet Med..." He looked down at himself, taking in the equipment attached to him, the monitors and therapeutic devices, and his eyes went wide. "How did... why am I... what happened? I was on the shuttle... shuttle with..." He shook his head, looking blank and confused, but starting to tremble. The monitors flashed, letting Leonard know that the duty nurse and doctor had been notified of a change in the patient's status. Jim kept talking, unaware that the alarms had been triggered. "Bones... Bones, I can't remember. What happened?"

"There was a crash, Jim." He threaded his fingers through Jim's, squeezing, hoping to anchor Jim through the confusion of waking up. "There was a crash, but it's okay. They got you out."

Jim shook his head weakly. "Got me out? No... there was... someone else. Someone else in the shuttle... Bones? Why can't I remember?"

"You're on pain meds. That will make your head a bit fuzzy." He wasn't about to tell Jim about the severity of his head injuries just now, or about how Jim's memory gaps were making him worry. "Relax, kid. You'll remember more as -"

"No! It's not... not like..." He shook his head again. "Not safe. I need to get out of here."

Leonard felt his own surge of fear; Jim was actually awake this time, but he wasn't lucid. Not really. And of the many ways a head trauma patient could wake up, this was a known possibility – confusion and panic. "Oh no you don't, kid. You're not going anywhere." _Goddammit, where's that other doctor?_ "You're perfectly safe, and you'll be absolutely fine, as long as you _don't move_."

Normally, when Leonard used that tone of voice, he could get Jim to comply with just about anything. Normally, he could get Jim to calm down whenever he got some insane notion through his notoriously hot head. Normally, as much as Jim hated doctors, the kid would relax and behave rationally if Leonard was there to keep him in line.

There was nothing normal about this. In fact, telling Jim not to move seemed to have the exact opposite effect.

With a clumsy lurch, Jim tried to sit up, only to cry out in pain and shock as his body was suddenly immobilized by the stabilization field over the biobed. It was supposed to support him and keep him from moving too far so that he wouldn't cause further damage to his spine while it healed, but Jim didn't know that, and he tried to free himself again. Another alarm rang out as Leonard scrambled to get a hold of Jim, on any place that wasn't already damaged, hoping that human contact might be more soothing than an invisible force field.

"Jim! You've got to stop! You're going to hurt yourself if you keep struggling!"

"NO! They can't keep me here... Bones, let me go!" He jerked again, held back by both Leonard's shaking hands and the force field. "Why am I tied down?"

"You're not tied down! Look at me, Jim. _Look at me._" For a moment, Leonard thought he'd made eye contact, and that Jim might listen. "You hurt your back. You can't jostle around until it's healed more. The force field is just there to help you hold still so it won't get worse."

Jim blinked, then started shaking his head. "How did I... did I do something stupid?"

Leonard cringed at the raw confusion on Jim's face. Yes, he was awake, but he was so far from lucid that he was barely there. "No, kid. I told you, there was a crash. You just -"

Jim's eyes went wide. Wild. "No. No no nonono... it's wrong... wasn't just a crash. It was... was sabotage, Bones." He broke eye contact and started to struggle again. "Sabotage! Someone else... attacked... sabotage..."

This was getting out of hand, and for every calm thing Leonard tried to say, Jim only seemed to resist more. His movements were weak and clumsy, and he had no chance of breaking the tolerance limits of the field, but the exertion was more than his body was ready to handle. The nurse finally burst through the door, followed seconds later by the duty doc. Leonard looked back over his shoulder, refusing to take his hands from Jim's arms. "It's about goddamned time! Where the hell were you?"

Jim flinched at his sudden outburst, almost cowering against the pillow, and Leonard shot him what he hoped was a soothing look as he brushed a hand softly across Jim's cheek before turning back to glare are the new arrivals again.

The other doctor - Carlson, if he remembered, not that he cared - shook her head apologetically. "I was with a patient on the other side of the ward."

"Then next time you can't respond to an alarm fast enough, send someone who can, or I'm taking over Kirk's care officially!" He spared the nurse a nod, both grateful and infuriated, as she came around to the other side of the biobed and helped to hold Jim down in the hopes that human restraint would cause him less panic than the force field. Jim wasn't taking well to any of this, and redoubled his still-weak efforts to break free of the stabilization field, gasping and groaning in pain.

Carlson just shook her head again, rapidly checking through scan readings. "He's semi-lucid, but his spine is still too unstable. If he keeps struggling, he's going to damage himself further." Her voice was detached, distracted. "Nurse Kumar, twenty-five milligrams of tetroxazepam. That should give us enough time to reassess him."

"Yes, doctor."

The nurse hurried to the supply cabinet, and Leonard vaguely wondered if they really needed to use something so strong on Jim when he'd only just woken up. However, Jim wasn't really all there yet, and his own struggling was putting him at immediate risk for further injury, and Leonard knew it. Even as Leonard continued to mumble reassurances, Jim was rapidly becoming less coherent. Or, at least, he seemed to be less coherent. His words, broken and choked though they might be, were highly focused... sabotage, engine problems, paranoia that he wasn't safe there - _the pain meds can trigger paranoia sometimes,_ Leonard tried to reassure himself - and _goddammit, _Jim remembered Tambe.

Then Doctor Carlson tried to step between Leonard and Jim.

"McCoy, maybe you should leave until he's stable again."

Leonard glared at her. "I'll leave when Klingons are cuddly, and not a moment -"

Jim gave a sudden lurch. "Don't leave! Bones... don't... don't leave me here. Gotta get... out of here!" He turned his head as Nurse Kumar returned, holding a syringe. "What... what's that..."

"Just something to help you sleep, dear." She twisted the syringe into the port on the IV line and slowly began pressing the plunger. "This won't hurt."

Jim's eyes flashed from her face to her hands, then traced the long plastic tube to the point where it was embedded in his own hand. "No... no, stop... don't want... need to remember... I don't... Bones, make 'er stop... Bones!" He made a move as if to reach for the IV, and Leonard had no doubt he meant to yank it out of his own vein, but the stabilization field only gave him a few centimeters of movement.

He knew that Jim's panic would be over in a moment as he succumbed to the sedative, but the wild fear in Jim's eyes was painful to see. The last thing the kid would have remembered clearly was the horrific crash, and then, at most, brief flashes of the emergency beam-out and the chaos that followed. Delirious, in pain, not really able to understand what was happening to him... it was no wonder the kid was fighting everything like this. Maybe the nurse and Carlson were knowledgeable medical professionals, but they _didn't know Jim_.

All but elbowing Carlson out of the way, Leonard covered the IV in Jim's hand with his own hand, blocking it from Jim's line of sight, then put his other hand on Jim's cheek. "Dammit, Jim, look at me. Nobody's trying to hurt you. We're trying to help you. Remember – you go out and beat yourself to a pulp playing the hero, and I'm here to patch you back together, right?"

Jim nodded warily.

"Good. That's what we're trying to do. So relax, tough guy. Take a deep breath - no, stop that. Don't look at her, look at me. You're fine. We're doing what we can to patch you up. I'm here, and I'm not leaving, okay?"

"I... okay..." He blinked once, then again. "Sleepy. Why?"

"Because sleep is good for you, kid."

For a split second, the corner of Jim's mouth almost twitched a smile. "Thank... thanks, Bones." Then he frowned. "Stay?" The word was drenched in sleep now, and a quick glance to the side let Leonard know that the nurse had almost finished administering the sedative. He turned back, and gave Jim the most sincere look he could muster.

"I'll stay."

A few seconds later, Jim's eyes were shut, and Leonard slowly released Jim's hand and stood upright, feeling much older than he was.

"No, you won't stay."

Leonard snapped around at the sound of Doctor Carlson's voice. "Excuse me, but _what?_"

She blew out an exasperated breath, her mouse-brown ponytail bobbing as she shook her head and folded her arms over her chest. "McCoy, you might think you're helping your friend, but you know as well as I do that sometimes it's an added stress for a patient when they're waking up."

Leonard shook his head incredulously. "Are you kidding? Carlson, normally you'd be right, but you _don't know Jim_. And someone has to look out for him who does."

"I'm aware that I don't know Cadet Kirk personally," she started, carefully, "I have no doubt that you know Jim extremely well, and that your presence will be vital to his recovery. But in the meantime, put yourself in my shoes. What would you do if you had a patient with severe head trauma and other injuries who was having a rough time regaining consciousness... and the patient's friend or family member was driving himself up a wall, stressing out by the patient's bedside?"

Like hitting a brick wall, Leonard's intended tirade stalled out on his tongue. Locking eyes with a very determined doctor who was facing him down, her arms still folded firmly over her chest, all Leonard could do was grunt noncommittally.

"Listen... Leonard..." Her stance softened just a bit. "He's out cold, and he will be for another three hours at least. I need to do a thorough reassessment and a neural scan, and I'd like to run another regen session on his spine so _maybe _we can get him out of the stabilization field sooner, before he wakes up again, if possible... and I don't need you in the way. Go for a walk. Take a hot shower. Go to the gym and spend some time with a punching bag. But get yourself out of this hospital, mind and body, for a couple of hours. Okay?"

Leonard wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that he'd promised Jim that he was staying, and he wasn't going anywhere other than perhaps a quick trip to the bathroom or maybe to the doctor's lounge for some more coffee, but the look in her eyes caused his argument to fall flat before it began. He recognized that look, and he had to respect it. _Here's a doc I'd want on my staff_, he mused absently. "Fine," he growled, giving her a moment of eye contact before turning away and grabbing his bag. "I'll be back though."

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder. "Of course."

Startled, but not put off by her unexpected display of empathy, he reached up and patted her hand awkwardly in reply, before hurrying out the door without a single glance back.

.&.

The wind was chilly against Leonard's bare legs as he sat on the dock at the edge of Crissy Field on the East Campus. Salty water sprayed up against his feet as waves crashed against the pilings. Across the bay, he could just barely see Starfleet Medical, but he made a point not to look at it. He could see the lights on the Golden Gate Bridge through the thin evening fog, and he gazed towards it, past it, and into the darkness. He'd walked here across the bridge, trying to clear his head, letting his feet take him where they would. Of course he was coming back to the dock. He'd spent plenty of evenings sitting on that dock, sometimes with Jim, sometimes alone. The sound of the wind and waves was soothing.

He glanced down at the communicator in his hand. Technically, Jim had woken up, however briefly. He'd planned to call Captain Pike when the kid came around, but Jim was back out for the count. He'd be unconscious for a least a little while longer. Maybe an hour. Two? Less? Really, Leonard had lost track of time. Maybe he'd call Pike later, when he went back to check in on Jim. Maybe he'd call sooner. As much as he wanted to be alone, he was feeling a sort of isolation he hadn't expected.

Jim was a fixture in his life now. He'd accepted that fact. Embraced it. Had just somehow figured that it would always be that way, and couldn't quite imagine it changing. Jim would be there to wake him up in the middle of the night for ridiculous adventures, convince him to have a bit of fun no matter how much he protested, and keep him from becoming too horribly cynical of an old bastard. Leonard grumbled, Jim laughed; that's how it worked, and it felt like they were both better for it. And after what Jim had done last year – _goddammit, it was almost a year ago_– Leonard was convinced that maybe the kid really was born under an unusual star, if not a particularly lucky one.

And then, there was Jim – laid out on the trauma room table, barely alive, and either the luckiest sonofabitch in the quadrant, or the least fortunate humanoid who'd ever tread on Terran soil. Leonard wasn't sure which was true. Or maybe luck had nothing to do with it, and it was just the way the universe seemed to work for Jim.

"_The universe is indifferent. It doesn't care about you or Cadet Kirk_." Toland had said that to him once. Sure, it was a sensible perspective in the grand scheme of things, but with Jim, he was really having a hard time believing it.

A large wave crashed against the pilings and sent a cold splash of water against the soles of his feet. A deep shiver ran up his spine.

Maybe he should go to one of the campus cafes and get something warm to drink. Maybe he should head to his dorm and get some sleep. Maybe he should walk back to Starfleet Medical now, in hopes that a round trip over the Bridge by foot would be enough to clear his head. Maybe he actually _should _call Pike -

"Is this seat taken, son?"

Leonard startled so hard that he had to grip the edge of the pier to quell the sensation that he was going to fall into the bay. "Pike!" He cleared his throat. "Uh, Captain Pike... what are you... I mean..."

Pike waved him off with a humourless chuckle as he sat down on the pier, dangling his feet, shoes and all, over the edge alongside Leonard's bare feet. Leonard was surprised to see him in civilian clothes, but he supposed at that hour of the night, most normal people had actually changed out of work attire. Most of them, if they weren't nocturnal, were actually asleep. Pike was awake, but he had deep circles under his eyes and looked like he should have been asleep hours ago. "I called Starfleet Medical for an update on Kirk, and they told me he'd started to come around, but…" His voice trailed off.

Leonard nodded slowly. "It wasn't pretty."

"I'm sure it wasn't." His sigh was lost in the darkness. "I hope you'll forgive the invasion of privacy, but I tracked your comm signal to find you."

Leonard shrugged awkwardly. "You're the Commandant of Cadets. I'm a cadet. You have every right to track my location."

"McCoy…" There was a note of frustration there, and Pike pressed the heels of his hands into his thighs, hunching his shoulders in a gesture of discomfort that didn't seem to suit him. "If you want to look at it that way, be my guest, but I'd hoped you'd caught on to the hint that I'm trying to help you and Kirk as much as I can… and that I don't violate my cadets' privacy without a damned good reason."

Fighting the uncomfortable twist in his stomach, Leonard clenched his fists and looked sideways at Pike. "I know, sir. It's been a long few days, and I'm probably not my usual charming self."

Pike laughed dryly. "That makes two of us, McCoy. That makes two of us."

"So," Leonard started, not wanting to waste time on small talk, "you don't track down your cadets without a reason. What's your reason this time, Captain?"

"This time, it's simple. I wanted to know how you're handling this."

Leonard couldn't help it. He laughed, and it was a sound drenched with incredulity and exhaustion. There was nothing simple about Pike, and he highly doubted that was the only thing going through the man's head at the moment. Still, it was a starting point. "How I'm handling this?" he asked, pouring every bit of scepticism into the question that he could. "Off the record?"

"Do you see me wearing a uniform right now?" Pike's voice was calm and open; a clear invitation to speak freely.

Blowing out a heavy sigh through pursed lips, Leonard scrubbed his face harshly with his hands before replying. "I'm surviving, like Jim. I guess that's what we do."

"You do that better than most people would in your shoes." There was a distinct tone of respect there, and Leonard appreciated it.

"Not much else we can do. And flying blind-" Leonard flinched at his own choice of phrasing. "- isn't helping." He gritted his teeth, then looked down at his hands in his lap, pale outlines in the shadows. There was so little he could do right now. Couldn't help Jim. Couldn't solve anything. Had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. "Sir, with this being off the record, how about a clue as to what's going on?"

Something in Pike's eyes darkened. "I wish I could tell you, McCoy, and this time, I mean it differently."

"Oh?" He didn't like the sound of that.

"I've been removed from the investigation."

For a moment, the roar of the wind seemed to block out everything else, until Leonard realized it was the rush of blood in his ears. He wasn't quite sure why, but instinctively, he knew that Pike being removed from the investigation was bad news. "Why's that, sir?"

"I'm too close to Kirk. His academic advisor. I recruited him. Knew his parents." It didn't sound like the whole answer.

"But Jim isn't being investigated himself, is he?"

Pike grimaced, and it was an ugly thing. "I can only guess, but right now, it's wide open." He shook his head to himself. "The thing is, when I lost access to the investigation, they still hadn't found any evidence of foul play, and without evidence -"

"What do you mean, _without evidence_? They collected the wreckage. They've got the sensor data. Surely they've got all the evidence they need."

Pike's frown deepened. "The shuttle didn't just crash, McCoy. It exploded. Vaporized. There wasn't much left, and what there is... is little more than shrapnel."

"Well, dammit," Leonard growled. "So how the hell are they going to run the investigation if there's nothing left?"

"Engineers and physicists have their ways, I'm sure."

"Yeah, they do," Leonard said in a low tone, thinking of Lieutenant Scott and wondering what the man had learned. "So do doctors."

Pike nodded slowly. "I'm sure you do. But McCoy..." He hesitated, and hesitation didn't sit right on a man like Pike.

"What, sir?"

"Let me tell you something. Something to consider."

Leonard didn't like where this was going. Not at all. Still, he tipped his head, waiting.

"I had a pretty rough assignment or two as a lieutenant," Pike began carefully. "Saw some ugly things. Got sent to some places that make the worst myths of hell sound like a vacation. Almost had my leg taken off in a bad landing party mission. Watched one of the women on my team get torn limb from limb that day." He let out a harsh laugh. "Just to let you know – a cave is NOT always a good place to wait out an ion storm until the transporters can punch through."

Leonard swallowed uneasily. "I'll remember that."

Pike nodded. "Well, to make a very long story much too short, by the time that tour was over, I'd almost wished I'd taken some leave. It probably would have been smarter of me, but hey, when we're young, we think we're immortal, don't we?"

"Jim sure does."

"What about you?"

The question was so casual that it caught Leonard off-guard, and he looked up sharply. The wind gusted, sending a deep shiver up his spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"McCoy," Pike said heavily, "You were taking on a heavy load this semester even _before _this happened. You're up to your neck right now."

"And I can keep afloat just fine."

"Really?" Pike let out a slow breath. "Do you need to go on leave?"

"What?" Leonard shook his head as if trying to dislodge the idea from his brain before it could stick. "No, sir. No. I've got work to do, classes I don't want to fall behind in. Besides, what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit around and find a chair to rock in?"

"Whatever it takes for you to keep yourself healthy. And McCoy, I don't just mean physically." Pike leaned on one elbow and looked at Leonard sideways. "Even the strongest people can only take so much."

"So you think I need to go hide from this?"

Pike shook his head. "There's a difference between hiding and giving yourself time to catch your breath. What I'm trying to say, son, is that you and Kirk went through a bit of hell last year. You're both lucky to be alive, and even though you two managed to keep it quiet around campus, you can't erase it from your own memory. You can only take so much before you need a break."

Leonard felt himself bristle at the suggestion. After being told to step away from Jim's bedside, now someone was suggesting that he ought to step away from everything. It was a slap across the face. Whether because he refused to accept the idea that he couldn't handle it, or because he didn't want to be sent away, he wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. "I don't need a break," he said roughly. "I need to earn my commission and restart my career. Other than that, I'm fine."

"You're hardly fine, McCoy. I'm not blind, and I didn't make it this far through the command structure without learning a few things about what makes people tick."

"And you know what makes me tick, sir?" Leonard cut sharply, not even bothering to stifle the sarcasm.

"More than most cadets, but you can't blame me for paying attention to some of the Academy's best and brightest. I pay attention to Kirk, too, in case you hadn't noticed. But as worried as I am about him, right now, it's you that's got me concerned."

"Really now?" Leonard couldn't quite stifle the incredulity. "Because from where I'm sitting, I'm fine, and Jim is the one we need to worry about."

"And from where I'm sitting, I see a different picture." Pike's tone was hard, and he wasn't going to back down. "Leonard McCoy, you'd turn the world on its head for Jim Kirk. Tell yourself that this isn't why you're sitting on the pier in the middle of the night, freezing your tail off, and pretending you aren't compulsively looking across the bay towards Starfleet Medical."

Leonard opened his mouth, but there were no words. Pike was too damned smart, and too damned good at how he played it. He gritted his teeth, clenching his fingers into the cold wood of the pier to ground himself.

"Come on, McCoy. What do you really need?"

He felt his throat tighten a bit. "I need Jim to walk out of that hospital, healthy and whole."

Finally, Pike's expression softened. "I know you do, son. And until he does, I know you won't be okay either."

Maybe it was the sudden chill from another blast of water against his feet. Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion finally catching up with him. Hell, maybe it was the fact that Pike was right, whether he liked it or not. Whatever it was, Leonard felt something inside him surrender. "I won't take leave," he said, trying to keep his voice level, "but I'll take care of myself. And Jim."

"Then that will have to be good enough. I'll help you if I can, but I can't make promises. I'd say to stay out of trouble, but that can be difficult when you're friends with Jim Kirk."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"I know." Leonard looked over at Pike, and even in the shadows, couldn't help but notice an odd look on his face, as if he'd been holding something back the whole time, and was still considering whether or not to say it. Letting out a heavy breath, Leonard leaned on his knees. "Now are you going to tell me why the Commandant of Cadets is really sitting on a freezing cold pier in the middle of the night?"

For a split second, Pike wasn't able to hold back his own look of surprise, and Leonard caught a brief and bitter hint of victory.

"See, Captain? You're not the only one who knows a thing or two about what makes people tick."

Pike's expression of surprise quickly melted into a mirthless laugh. "You're a sharp one, McCoy. You're right… I did have another reason for coming out here. I wasn't sure I was going to ask you though."

"Why not?"

Pike shrugged. "I wanted to see how you were doing before I started digging."

Leonard nodded grimly. "Well, you know now. And you're here. I'm here. So ask."

Twisting slightly so that he was facing Leonard more directly, Pike's face suddenly became deadly serious. The change in tension caught Leonard off-guard, and he sat up straighter, hooking one knee on the pier so that he was looking Pike dead-on. The man's face was a foreboding silhouette of deep shadows.

For a damnable length of time, Pike said nothing, then in an undertone so low Leonard had to lean closer to hear him over the wind, and said, "I may no longer be part of the investigation… but there are some games going on around here. I can smell it."

"What kind of games, sir?" Leonard asked distantly, not really sure he wanted an answer.

Pike hesitated again. "Listen, I can't say a word, but I'm still looking into things. And I've got my sources. What I want to know is… has Kirk pissed anyone off lately? To the point where they would put him in danger, even if they didn't necessarily want to kill him?"

"I don't know… I mean… I…" Leonard stammered. "I don't think so, but…"

A few thoughts began to simmer in Leonard's mind. There were the cadets he'd outscored - but most of the cadets seemed to like and respect Jim, even if he was stiff competition. There were instructors who Jim had shown up in class... but that was insane. No cadre at the academy would _ever_think of doing something that would intentionally put a cadet at risk...

It was like a slap across the face, and in a rush, the events of the previous year came flooding back. A training gone wrong, a dark past remembered, and the catastrophe that resulted when they tried to fix it... "No. That's not... that Terra Prime could have done this? No." He shook his head. "Jim's name was never released, and they never identified us. There's no way they could have traced it back... infiltrated the Academy like that. Is there?"

Pike's face was an icy mask. "That's a really long stretch, McCoy. Is there anyone else? Anyone at all?"

"I… I can't think of anyone," Leonard said loosely, unable to dislodge the deeply disturbing idea that was rapidly becoming entrenched in his mind. "Is there any evidence? Do _you_think it could be Terra Prime?"

Pike didn't say yes, but he didn't say no. No hint of a nod, no shake of the head. The man wasn't giving up anything, and McCoy made a mental note never to challenge him to a game of poker. "I just needed to know if you could think of anyone who was a possible threat to Kirk. That's all. Draw your own conclusions if you need to, but don't get caught up in it. I need to go do some hunting." His face twisted into a grimace. "This isn't over."

_No, it's not_, Leonard thought bleakly. _Not by a long shot_. He'd only been fearing for Jim's physical recovery. It hadn't occurred to him that the aftermath of the crash could have more sinister repercussions. While he had a good sense that Pike was going to do everything he could for Jim, it seemed obvious that even the experienced Captain was gearing up for a fight, and it was going to be ugly.

But before Leonard could push for any more information, Pike's cold expression morphed back into the look of sympathy that he'd been wearing earlier.

"I think we've had just about enough of that," he said casually, reaching out an resting a warm hand on Leonard's shoulder. "Besides, I'm from the desert, and it's freezing out here. So how about I bring you back to Starfleet Medical. Let you check on Kirk. And then, Leonard, you go get some sleep."

Leonard watched Pike's face carefully for a moment. Despite his sudden shift in demeanor, there was true sincerity there. It was sincerity cracked with fatigue, stress, worry, and a touch of anger, but it was as honest as Leonard had seen in a long time. He glanced over Pike's shoulder at the lights of Starfleet Medical, barely breaking through the fog over the bay, then finally looked back at Pike. "Okay."

.&.

The steps up to the main door of Starfleet Medical were cold and windswept, feeling much like Leonard himself felt at the moment. Pike's personal transport was pulling away, a faint hum in the background as Leonard stepped back into the too-bright lights of the main entrance. A nod to the security checkpoint, a flash of an ID badge, and a turbolift to the ICU. Footsteps down the corridor - his own, then another pair.

"McCoy."

"Doctor Carlson, how is he?"

"Showing signs of waking up again, actually. We gave him a very mild dose of isospirone about a half-hour ago, so it should go a bit more smoothly this time."

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it. That drug wouldn't make Jim feel drowsy, but it should help ward off the potential for another panic attack, even if the kid were to wake up disoriented. It might even give Leonard a chance to talk to him.

"I also authorized you for supportive care management," Carlson continued. "You won't be his lead doctor, but you can take care of him. Somehow, I think it would be good for both of you, and he'd give you less of a fight."

"Oh, he fights with me tooth and nail when I try to get him to take care of himself, but I'm used to it." Leonard felt himself smiling. "It lets me know he's okay."

Doctor Carlson smiled back. "Go on. Be there when he wakes up."

The door to Jim's room was already opened, so Leonard slipped through and peeked around the curtain. If Jim was waking up, he didn't want to startle him. However, Leonard found himself startled to see Jim's eyes fully opened. The kid was sagged against his pillows at a deep reclining angle, looking tired, but he was definitely fully conscious. Leonard's immediate relief was that he wasn't panicking at all. Even more pleasing was that it was obvious that the stabilization field had been deactivated - Jim's spine must have been deemed stable enough for that. Those were the good signs. However, Jim's mouth was twisted into a frown, eyebrows deeply furrowed, as he was poking at the IV line in his hand. Worried that the kid was going to try to yank it out again, Leonard took a deep breath and slowly stepped around the edge of the curtain.

"Jim?"

Bright blue eyes snapped up, briefly startled. Jim stopped poking at his hand, and something like a tattered smile slowly warmed his features. "Hey, Bones."

For the first time in three days, something tightly wound in Leonard's stomach finally released. He wanted to collapse into the chair next to Jim's bed and let out a world of stress and worry all at once, but years of medical training held him back. He might have been deeply worried, but Jim had been critically injured. He didn't want to overwhelm the kid, not yet, so he stayed at the foot of the bed. Still, he couldn't keep the smile off his own face. "Welcome back, Jim. How're you feeling?"

His smile faded. "Been better. Obviously."

"Mind if I come in?" Leonard knew he didn't need to ask, but he wanted to give Jim some sense of control.

"You're kidding, right?" Jim looked at him incredulously, gesturing towards the chair next to the bed. "I was wondering where you were. You... uh..." His gaze fell, and he stared at the blanket he'd begun twisting between his fingers. "You said you'd stay."

Guilt rose in Leonard's throat. He didn't think it would have been possible for Jim to remember after the sedative they'd given him. Nobody else would have remembered, but then, Jim wasn't like anyone else; after he'd argued that exact thing to Doctor Carlson, he had no right to assume something so careless about his best friend. He shouldn't have gone for such a long walk. Should have waited for Jim right there.

"I'm sorry," he said, easing himself into the chair. He wanted to lie and say he'd just been out of the room, getting some coffee, going to the bathroom, or taking a shower in the staff locker room, but he couldn't lie. Not to Jim. "Doctor Carlson is the lead doctor on your case right now, and technically my superior. She told me I should leave for a little while while they checked you over, and she was probably right. I thought you'd still be asleep, and I needed some fresh air and some thinking."

"I understand," Jim said, but his voice was flat.

"No, kid, you don't understand, and you shouldn't have to. That's not your responsibility right now. I should have been here."

He finally glanced back up, with something lost and wistful hiding in his gaze. "Then tell me, Bones." He blinked owlishly. "I had you that worried, didn't I." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, you did," Leonard admitted. "I don't know how much you remember, but you woke up in a bit of a panic."

Jim was suddenly looking everywhere around the room that wasn't Leonard. "I remember," he said dryly. "Sorry about that. But yeah, I remember a lot." His gaze fell. "Not enough though."

Slowly, Leonard reached over and rested a hand on Jim's arm. He couldn't help but notice that Jim flinched, just slightly. "Kid, with all you've been through, it's amazing that you remember anything. Some people wouldn't know their own name if they were sitting in your position."

"I know, Bones," came the quiet reply. "I'm grateful for that." He finally glanced back up. "I remember that you were there."

Leonard sucked in a sharp breath, withdrawing his hand. He hoped that didn't mean what he thought it did. "You mean when you woke up just a little while ago?"

Slowly, Jim shook his head. "When I first arrived."

Like a brick settling in his stomach, Leonard's fears were confirmed. "You remember what happened in the trauma ward."

"Not exactly," he said with a shrug. His voice sounded distant. "I remember... noise. Voices... a lot of lights... people everywhere. My head hurt. Everything hurt. But I knew you were there. I could hear you."

Leonard wanted to burst out in sympathy, railing against the horrible care Jim must have received to have been aware of anything during such a horrible trauma. He wanted to rip apart the lousy attending physician who had permitted such a thing to happen. He'd tear that guy up one side and down the other, questioning everything from the validity of his medical license to the legitimacy of his parentage. And he was damn well going to find a mirror later and do exactly that.

"Jim, you shouldn't have remembered any of that. I'm sorry that you did." Leonard hesitated, but he knew that partial memories from incomplete sedation could be worse for patients than learning the whole thing. "Listen, if you need to ask anything about what was happening... I can answer any questions you might have."

Jim said nothing for a moment, staring across the room blankly, eyes glassy, and Leonard started to worry that he was going to slip back into unconsciousness.

"Jim? You still with me?"

"I'm here, Bones." His eyes slowly drooped shut, then fluttered open again. "I'm just... you know. Overwhelmed."

"Yeah. I know." He wished he didn't know.

"Can I leave now?"

The question startled Leonard so much that he did a double-take. "_What_? Jim, I know you think you're indestructible, but no, you can't leave! Are you out of your daredevil mind?"

Jim flinched, then glanced up. "I don't feel right here, Bones. I..." His voice trailed off, and his lips pinched together pensively.

"Come on, kid. Tell me. It's okay."

Jim looked at him skeptically for a moment, then sighed. "Bones, everything's kinda fuzzy right now. I... I can't think straight. But I _know _that if someone sabotaged the shuttlecraft... I mean... what if I'm not safe?"

Leonard raised an eyebrow. This wasn't Jim. Fear wasn't a consideration for the Jim Kirk he'd come to know over the past year. Granted, the kid had probably never felt so vulnerable in his life. And even a mild concussion was enough to leave a person feeling fuzzy-headed for a few days, so it was absolutely expected that Jim would have some cognitive trouble for at least a few weeks, if not a few months. He just hoped that he'd be on the mend sooner, rather than later.

At the same time... he wondered if Jim's fears weren't actually unfounded.

Affecting what he hoped was a reassuring look, Leonard leaned forward on the edge of the biobed. "That's why I'm here, Jim. I'm going to watch out for you until you're back on your feet - which, by the way, will be a whole lot sooner if you relax. And believe me, even if I wasn't here... Starfleet Medical is one of the safest places in the quadrant."

Jim squirmed slightly against his pillows. "They drugged me."

It was all Leonard could do not to keep his mouth from falling open in dismay. "Jim, I'm sorry about that. I really am. But we did need to give you a sedative. You were panicking. You weren't fully awake yet, and they were trying to keep you from hurting your back again."

"Then they should have listened to me, instead of drugging me." There was an odd look in Jim's eye - a bit like a cornered animal – and Leonard was instantly aware of how tenuous Jim's lucidity really was. "I was remembering, Bones. I wanted her to stop because I'd remembered something... and now I've forgotten again. I need to remember what I saw, Bones. It's there... like a big blank spot where... where _something _important should be." He let out a growl of frustration that fizzled into a weak groan. It looked all wrong on Jim Kirk.

Swallowing tightly, Leonard fought to keep a neutral expression. "You'll remember again. It's all part of the recovery process. You need to give it time."

"Time?" The word was laced with truncated hysteria, shrouded in fake incredulity. "How the hell can I give it time, when... when the person who did this is... out there? Sure," he said, his tone biting and sarcastic, "I've got all the time in the world, Bones."

"Jim..."

"I can sit and wait while... while Tambe's killer is out there." His gaze sharpened, and for a moment, it almost looked like Jim was back. "Nobody would tell me after the crash, but I knew. She wasn't in the transporter room on the Mars Orbiter, and I heard someone say they lost her signal. They didn't get her out, did they?"

"No, Jim. They didn't." He sighed. "But that doesn't mean you should risk your own recovery."

"Well, fuck that," Jim said suddenly. "Get me out of here."

And now, Leonard was sure – no, Jim wasn't back, and this wasn't going well at all. _Paranoia, _Leonard thought nervously. He wasn't panicking the way he'd been before, but even if the meds were keeping the raw panic at bay, they couldn't fix the underlying nerves and fears that had Jim wanting to bolt from the hospital. "Jim, try to think through this for a minute. You just woke up from a nasty set of injuries. You need therapy and you need to be watched."

"I feel fine. And you can watch me as well as any of these people can. I trust you. More than them, anyway."

"You're not fine, Jim!" Leonard forced himself to keep a calm front. He wanted to chastise Jim, and slap him down for his completely irrational behavior and petulance, but he couldn't. This wasn't Jim's fault. This was the result of a human head smashing into the control panel of a shuttlecraft at several hundred kilometers per hour. He shook his own head to himself, and looked at Jim sadly. "Sorry, kid, but you can't leave for a few more days. I can watch you, sure, but if you want to be back on your feet as soon as possible - and I know you well enough to know that you do - then this is the best place in the quadrant for you to be." He patted the biobed next to Jim's hand. "Hell, Jim, even sitting on a biobed is a hundred times better therapy than I could possibly provide outside of this facility."

"Sitting on a damned bed is therapy? Now I've heard everything."

Leonard frowned at him, trying for the look he often used to get Jim to listen to reason. "Do you think that biobeds are nothing more than cots with sensors? These things generate a field that speeds up your body's cellular division and healing process exponentially. Yes, it's therapy."

"Great. What a convenient reason to keep me stuck here." Jim snorted and folded his arms across his chest, only to wince immediately at the movement.

"And here you go, trying to tell me you don't need help," Leonard grumbled as he stood up and tapped the biobed sensor readout, activating an advanced scanning mode. The scanners told him that nothing was worse, but there was a lot of inflammation from the healing process. "What hurts, Jim? Don't pretend you didn't flinch there."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. You can lie to anyone else, but not to me." He took a quick peek at the rate the analgesic was being administered. "Do you want me to increase your pain meds?"

For a moment, that cornered, spooked look froze Jim's face. Then he scowled and quickly reached for the back of his left hand. "I'm taking this thing out."

Even more quickly, Leonard caught his hand before he could grab the tube. "Whoa there! If you yank it out, you could rip your own vein. These are designed differently than short-term catheters, and you can't just pull them."

"Then you take it out." Jim's eyes held a wild defiance that told Leonard with almost absolute certainty that if he didn't, then Jim would.

"I can't do that, kid." He tightened his grip on Jim's hand as Jim tried to pull away. "Your other option is getting every therapeutic medication you need via hypospray, and I know how much you hate those. Besides, that's actually not as effective for osteoblast therapy. Somehow, I think you'd prefer to have your bones put back together sooner rather than later." Something in Leonard's chest clenched at the sight of the defiance in Jim's eyes starting to give way to confusion and just a bit of fear. "You need to keep it in for at least another two days, and you need to stay on that biobed."

"Not. Interested," he bit out harshly as he tried to pull away again. "I don't want them giving me stuff when I've got no control over it." Jim's words were rapid and agitated, but a couple of grunts of pain slipped through as he struggled half-heartedly with Leonard. "What if that's making me forget?"

"The drugs they've got you on can't cause any sort of amnesia," Leonard said quickly. "But they'll keep you from being in so much pain that you're incoherent, and trust me, without them, you'd be a wreck. I kinda _like_you being coherent, Jim. And if you don't stop struggling, the other doctors will come back in here."

Jim stilled instantly, but his body was still tense, like he'd jump at the slightest trigger.

"Listen, Jim... please." He couldn't keep the desperation out of his own voice, and that seemed to get Jim's attention. "You want to run and you want to fight, and I understand that. I want to help you with that. I'm _going _to help you with that. And there's going to be a time for fighting back, but now... you're not fine, Jim. For God sakes, you almost died in front of me. Do you know what that was like?"

Jim's expression tightened, and for a split second, it looked like there was a hint of moisture threatening his eyes. "Yeah, actually," he said roughly, "I do. In case you forgot."

The tightness in Leonard's chest turned into a heaviness, and he and Jim looked at each other for a long moment, neither one flinching. Their mutual brush with death - _and I came a lot closer than Jim that time _- almost a year ago at the hands of Terra Prime operatives wasn't something either of them would soon forget, but it had been their silent agreement not to talk about it. A bond, permanently shared, but left quietly on the shelf. Jim had saved his life that day, and it had been a near thing. No, Jim wouldn't forget something like that, even if he never spoke of it again.

Finally, Leonard sighed. Cautiously, he released Jim's hand and took a step back from the bed. He leaned on the arm of the chair, giving Jim the most sincere look he could muster. "I haven't forgotten, Jim." He tilted his head to the side, considering Jim carefully. "And would you have wanted me to leave the hospital before I was ready?" There was no reply, so Leonard pressed on. "And in case _you _forgot, you kept me from damaging myself irreparably. Dammit Jim, you saved my life. So... let me return the favor, okay?"

It almost looked like Jim was going to argue again, but finally, he sagged back against his pillows. "My head hurts," he said flatly. "And my hips. Shoulder, too."

Relieved for something familiar to do, Leonard reached for the tricorder on the shelf and began scanning. "Well, it's no surprise. You shattered your pelvis and whacked your head pretty badly. Your clavicle was in about seven pieces when we got you. Bones take time to knit, even with osteoblast treatment, and the muscles around the breaks are still healing, too. How's your vision?" Talking to a patient about his medical condition was familiar and comfortable to Leonard, and he felt his own tension ease slightly as he shifted modes.

"I can see just fine." Jim only sounded mildly petulant; it seemed like a good sign.

"Anything else bothering you?"

"I'm stuck in a hospital?" Slightly more petulant, that time. More like Jim.

Leonard hid his own grin. "Besides that, you infant."

Jim's eyebrows quirked up hopefully. "I could go for some pizza."

Leonard snorted as he scanned. "Do you know how many of your organs we put back together? Your digestive system won't be ready for solid food for another couple of days - not until liver function is back within norms." _And we don't want you needing to use the bathroom until your pelvis is stable enough to handle the pressure_, he thought to himself, but Jim didn't need to know that much.

"So they're gonna let me starve?"

Smirking, Leonard tapped the IV stand, holding back a chuckle as Jim groaned dramatically.

"Cruel and unusual, Bones. Cruel and unusual. Hey, beer isn't solid food, right?"

Leonard gave Jim a bemused smile, hiding the frown that was waiting just beneath the surface. Maybe Jim was perking up, but he _knew _the kid. This was a coping technique. With the severity of Jim's disorientation earlier, and his rapid shifts from panic to paranoia to good humor… Jim wasn't really all there, and probably wouldn't be for a while.

Head injuries were insidious. Personality shifts, irrational behavior, and emotional disturbances were just as much symptoms as memory loss. Of course, the more Jim acted like his normal self, the more it would help him recover. But Leonard couldn't let himself forget how quickly his mood had shifted, and how quickly it could shift back.

Keeping up the lighthearted grin for Jim's sake, Leonard spent a couple more minutes scanning and poking, as much to reassure himself as to let Jim know that he was looking out for him. Oddly, Jim seemed to relax under his ministrations despite his protests, holding still and answering directly when prompted for information. Finally, Leonard reached for the controls that metered out the cocktail of meds and supplements supporting Jim's body through the healing process. He paused when Jim made a sound that could have been called a whimper, not that Leonard would ever say that to the kid. "Jim?"

Jim blinked a couple of times, then looked away. "Sorry - I don't much like being sedated."

Frowning, Leonard half-sat against the biobed, and waited until Jim looked back up at him to speak. "Jim... I'm adding an anti-inflammatory to your pain meds. I'm not going to sedate you. Not unless your medical condition leaves me no other choice. If you can stay calm and cooperate with me, I can help you recover faster so that you can get out of here sooner. I'd figure that's what you want. And then... I swear to whatever gods in the galaxy will listen, I'll help you get to the bottom of what happened. We'll figure it out. But until then, please kid, just relax and let someone else take care of you for once. Let me take care of you."

Finally, although warily, Jim nodded. A few moments later, with a slightly higher dose of analgesics, Leonard was satisfied to see some of the tension and pain lines melt away from Jim's shoulders and face. The conversation turned to classes and homework - simple things. Jim asked for his PADD so he could keep up with classes until they released him; Leonard promised to bring it in the morning. They talked about what to do over the semester break. Anything that wasn't the crash or the investigation or...

"Bones?" Jim's tone of voice shifted just enough that Leonard knew he was about to ask something touchy.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Did you watch?"

He didn't have to say anything more - Leonard knew he was talking about the flight recorder feed.

"Yeah, I did. Damn near scared the livin' daylights out of me."

But Jim shook his head. "That's not what I want to know. I mean... before the engines started to fail... was I good?"

Not for the first time that night, Leonard felt his throat tighten with an unnamed emotion. "Yeah, kid. You were amazing."

Jim blinked at him slowly, then settled back against the pillows more deeply. "Thanks, Bones. I just needed to hear it." He smiled just a bit. "And I needed to know that you watched." Then a wide yawn split his face. "You didn't give me a sedative, did you?"

Smiling softly, Leonard shook his head. "No, Jim." He reached up and smoothed the blankets over Jim's torso.

"Then why the hell am I so sleepy? Haven't I been sleeping for... fuck, I don't even know what day it is."

"It's Friday... sorry, Saturday now. Middle of the night. And you're sleepy because healing takes a lot out of you," Leonard said softly. "Rest, kid. We'll tackle the bigger stuff in the morning."

As Jim drifted off a few minutes later, Leonard sagged back in his chair. Jim was resting in a completely natural sleep for the first time since the crash, he was stable, and now the real recovery could begin. By all rights, the kid shouldn't be alive, but he was, and he was going to make it. A miracle of modern medicine, sheer dumb luck, or some crazy combination of the two - Leonard didn't know which, but he'd take it. The long-held breath could be released.

.&.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES:** Sorry that I wasn't able to post during the week. I had some serious computer issues, and I've been just that damned busy. I'm trying to keep up. I'll try to get one more chapter posted by Monday. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! (You'll probably enjoy more than Kirk will.)

.&.

It took Jim a few seconds after waking up to remember where he was. He could tell that there was daylight in the room, which meant he'd slept in, and he could hear the familiar and reassuring sound of Bones snoring, which meant he'd crashed on Bones' couch last night. Must have had some good drinks, because he had one hell of a hangover. He'd get a lecture from his friend about proper hydration while drinking when Bones woke up, but the man was still asleep, which meant that maybe Jim could start a pot of coffee brewing before the morning-after storm hit, warding off the wrath of a decaffeinated Leonard McCoy with freshly brewed java. That was, he would do it if he felt inclined to move right now, which he really didn't.

The snoring continued.

Bones only snored when he was horribly overtired, usually after pulling double-shifts in the clinic. But Jim didn't recall Bones saying anything about extra clinic hours this week. In fact, Jim didn't remember drinking last night, so there was no reason for the hangover. And this didn't feel like the couch in Bones' dorm room.

It was the beeping of a cardiac monitor that broke the bubble of his illusion and brought everything back. Suppressing a groan, Jim opened his eyes. The window to his left was wide open, revealing a surprisingly bright day outside, with the sunlight streaking in at a high angle. It had to be close to mid-day on... Saturday, now? Hadn't Bones said it was Saturday? Three days since the crash, and he was still at Starfleet Medical, perched on a biobed, with a dozen different sensors trained on every damned bodily function he had. Invasive and out of his control... like a fucking shuttlecraft out of control. This was ten kinds of obnoxious. For a moment, he wondered sarcastically whether or not the biobed sensors would even tell him when he needed to pee... then he realized that he'd been in that bed for days without once going to the bathroom, and he decided he'd rather not think about that.

_I don't care what Bones says about the wonders of modern medicine - it's still barbaric._

Generally, though, he supposed it wasn't too awful. Despite his instinctive complaints, he wasn't in too much pain. Just a few faint aches, and his head felt funny. Really, he didn't see why he couldn't just leave.

He turned his head to see where Bones was sitting, sprawled awkwardly on the chair next to the biobed, head flopped back. That would certainly cause a neck-ache, and for a moment, Jim felt something warm and undefinable swell in his chest at the thought that Bones really _was_sitting up with him... followed by guilt over asking the guy to stay... followed by anger that this had happened at all.

How the hell had this happened, anyway? It would be nicer to conclude that it had been nothing more than an accident. A simple mechanical glitch would have no more sinister implications, but that just didn't work. He'd seen... _something_ in the engine. He couldn't remember for the life of him _what _it was, but there had been something. Boxy, not too big, tucked into the wires and circuits - he could almost visualize it. Almost reach out and touch it. He'd just been about to reach for it when the shuttle had lurched... he'd crashed back into the wall... scrambled to his seat. The shuttle tilted and rocked around him as he strapped himself back into his pilot's chair, and was shouting for the emergency beam-out that never came as the shuttle raced towards the ground...

"_Jim_! Goddammit, look at me, Jim!"

He blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on Bones' face, hovering over his own, fixed in the familiar scowl that Jim recognized as concern. "I... sorry, Bones. Didn't mean to wake you up."

Bones glared at him incredulously. "You're sorry because you had a nightmare? Now that's just ridiculous."

"Wasn't a nightmare," Jim mumbled. "I was awake already."

Bones leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, but his expression was openly sympathetic. "You had a flashback."

"No! I didn't... I..."

"If it wasn't a nightmare or a flashback, then do you care to give me a better reason why you were yelling for an emergency beam-out?"

"Because I want to get out of this ridiculous biobed?" he asked hopefully.

Bones glared at him. The man seemed to have the unique power to cut through the bullshit and force Jim to face reality, regardless of the situation. No matter how harsh his approach, Jim couldn't resist it, and even when it stung a bit, it was the best thing for him and he knew it.

Jim blew out a breath through pursed lips. "Well, maybe I did. I don't know." He really _didn't _know, and that was the worst part. "I was trying to remember what I saw in the engines. You said you'd help me."

"I will, Jim." He sighed. "But first things first." He reached over and hit the comm panel. "Nurse Aldrich? Can you page the duty neurologist?" The confirmation came over the comm, and Bones tapped the channel off. "Before you do anything else, they're going to check you over - don't give me that look, Jim - and probably start you on physical therapy. You should be happy about that - it means you'll get out of here faster. And they'll probably do a few nerve function and cognitive tests."

"No way." It was out of Jim's mouth before he could stop it. And he didn't care. "Cognitive tests? I can't remember one little thing and so they want to do cognitive tests? Am I brain-damaged or something?"

Bones flinched. He actually _flinched_, and Jim knew that wasn't good.

Frowning, Jim reached up and rand his hand along his head. Everything seemed normal. Hair was still there... no major bumps... a bit tender right there... and then, just above the base of his skull, he found a hairless circle, and a small bandage with a nub of some sort underneath. "What the hell is that?"

"Drainage shunt, Jim." Bones' voice was steady, but he looked distinctly uneasy, which was even more disconcerting. Nothing medical _ever_bothered that man. He glanced back at Jim sideways. "Now that you're fully awake and lucid, they'll remove it. They just wanted to make sure you were stable before they did. It'll come out today."

"Drainage...?" A slow set of dawning realizations hit Jim in sequence. He must have been bleeding. Badly. There actually _could _be brain damage. He might be forgetting things he didn't even _realize_he'd forgotten. There was a fucking hole in his head. And finally... he was probably looking at the man who'd put it there, and he suddenly got the sick feeling that it bothered Bones far more than it bothered him.. "Bones... it's okay. I mean, you..."

"It's barbaric, Jim, and no, it's not okay. I'm sorry. Some injuries... we've just never found a better way to handle them." He sighed heavily. "I'm working on it, though."

The defeated look on Bones' face didn't sit well with Jim. A lot of this didn't sit well, to be honest. "Was it really that bad?" He didn't want to hear the answer, but he had to.

Bones nodded. "Jim, you crashed at several hundred KPH and, based on what we can figure out, you snapped your harness and slammed directly into the control console. I just took a rifle butt to the head last year. That was nothing compared to this." His eyes were wide and haunted, and something in his expression struck home sharply.

Jim swallowed tightly. He remembered Bones, lying on the biobed a year ago, pale and motionless, and it had seemed like the end of the world. If this had been worse... he couldn't even imagine what Bones had been going through, watching and waiting. But for now... "So, what do I do next?" he asked, but before Bones could answer, the door to the room slid open, and another doctor walked in. Gray-haired and pink-faced, his primary dimension seemed to be round.

"Cadet Kirk," he began with a gentle smile, "it's good to see you awake. McCoy," he acknowledged with a curt nod. He immediately pulled out a tricorder and began scanning. "Kirk, my name is Doctor Livingston."

"I presume." It slipped out of Jim's mouth before he could stop it, a brief sarcastic quip. He could already see Bones getting ready to chastise him, but the old doctor waved it off.

"Humor is a higher brain function, McCoy, especially sarcasm," he said with a light chuckle, "so it's a good sign."

"Trust me," Bones said, "you'll get more than enough of that from Jim."

"Thanks, Bones," Jim said, chagrined.

"Good to know, good to know." The plump doctor seemed to mostly ignore their exchange and got right back to staring at his tricorder, speaking as he scanned. "I'm sure McCoy here has given you some information on your condition, but let's get you up to speed. First, you should be pleased to know that everything seems to be healing as fast as or faster than expected. You're quite resilient, young man. We've got a few rounds of basic therapy we want to start today..."

Jim wondered if doctors were incapable of talking without a damned tricorder in their hands. Or, more to the point, he wonderd if they ever looked up from the tricorders while talking to their patients. Maybe that's what he liked about Bones. As annoyingly quick as Bones could be to scan people at the earliest sign of a sneeze, ache, or sniffle, he always _looked_at people when he talked to them. "I'm up here," Jim finally interrupted.

The doctor's jovial monologue faltered, and he looked up at him, blinking once in confusion. "Come again?"

Feeling like he was speaking to a very naive or slow person, Jim pointed. "That's a tricorder. You're talking to me, right? Well, I'm up here."

But the doctor only smiled with a simple sort of pleasantry. "Right you are. Sorry about that, Mr. Kirk. Quite sorry." He patted Jim's leg gently, and as far as Jim was concerned, patronizingly. "I'm going to go grab a couple of pieces of therapy equipment and one of the PT nurses, and I'll be right back."

Jim let out a groan as soon as the door slid shut behind the doctor, and looked over at Bones imploringly. "Do I _have_to?"

"Do you want to get out of here with all your functions intact?"

Jim scowled. "Yeah."

"Then you listen to Doctor Livingston. He's actually really good - just a bit old, but that means years of experience." He chuckled. "You know, I've been wanting to make that joke ever since I met the guy. Nobody around here has a sense of humor."

"Then I'll do my best to make up for that," Jim deadpanned.

"You always do." Bones' voice turned melancholy, and he glanced back at the door, then sighed. "I've got a few things I need to do, actually."

"Wait - you're leaving?" That twisted Jim's stomach in a way he hadn't expected. "Why can't you stay? And can't you do this stuff?"

Bones glanced at the door, then leaned against the biobed heavily. "Jim... my specialty is trauma surgery. Livingston is actually better at the follow-up care than I am. And besides... you listed me as your next-of-kin. Did you expect them to let me act as your primary doctor?"

Jim's gut was screaming _YES_, but what little rationality was left in his brain was berating his gut with a condescending _"you idiot,_" in a tone which sounded far too much like Bones in his mind for comfort. "I guess not."

"Exactly," Bones said. "And Jim... I..." He shook his head. "Even if you hadn't listed me as next-of-kin, I can't handle being your doctor right now. Not for the big stuff." His eyes seemed to be begging for something. It looked like a plea for forgiveness, but Jim couldn't understand why. "Trust me, kid, I won't let anyone near you that I don't trust completely. The doctors on your case are the best we've got."

"What about other people?" The question burst out before Jim could stop it, bringing with it a surge of fear. "I told you... what if it's not safe?"

Bones rested a hand lightly on Jim's shoulder. "You're in the ICU, Jim. Nobody other than your attending physicians and support staff can get into this room without express permission from you or me. Starfleet policy."

That made Jim feel a little bit better, and he nodded blankly to himself, trying to ignore the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to be curdling his stomach anyway. This was a type of fear he hadn't felt in years. His normal way to deal with something was to tackle it head-on, to fight it, to challenge it; not to cower or cringe. However, fighting back was something he usually did on his own two feet, and based on the fact that his pelvis wasn't fully fused back together - a thought which he didn't much like considering - he wasn't going to be back on his own two feet for a couple more days. The helplessness and unavoidable vulnerability was making him nervous in a way he'd not felt in... well... a long time.

Even after the mess with Terra Prime the previous year, it hadn't been nearly this bad. He was up and walking around the next day. His head hadn't hurt. He wasn't forgetting things. And he had been more worried about Bones than himself.

This time, the only other person involved... was dead. Had been killed. Murdered. And the amazing James T. Fucking-Useless Kirk hadn't been able to do a damned thing to save her.

He was still thinking it over when there was an insistent beep from Bones' messenger bag. Jim looked up, forcibly unclenching his jaw as he furrowed his eyebrows at Bones in query.

For a moment, Bones stared at his PADD, eyes rapidly scanning whatever message he'd just received.

"Bones?"

Bones looked up, his face unreadable. "I've got to run, Jim."

"Wait, what was in the message?"

But Bones was already stuffing his PADD back into his bag. "Appointment with one of my instructors."

Jim frowned. "You're not… it's a Saturday, right?"

"Yeah… study session," he said, sounding… not exactly nervous, but definitely not calm either. He quickly slung his bag across his shoulders. "Can't be late. The Lieutenant changed his schedule around for me."

"Oh… okay." The rapid changes were coming faster than Jim could quite process, as if his brain was running too slowly for normal life. "I'll see you later, then."

Bones froze, one foot facing the door and the other still turned back towards Jim, then his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Jim. I know you hate it here, but I promise… you're in good hands. I'll be back in a little while. I can't miss this."

On one level, he knew that everything was fine, and that Bones couldn't stay there all day. He was also sure that if Bones said he couldn't miss… whatever the hell he was doing… then it must be important.

On another level, Jim couldn't quite squash the thick feeling of isolation that descended over the room as he watched Bones hurry out the door. The room was dead silent, and it left Jim with an eerie sense of helplessness that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

The silence was interrupted quickly enough, though, as Doctor Livingston (he presumed) bustled back into the room with an unfamiliar nurse in tow.

With another falsely brave smile, Jim set himself to the task of being as cooperative as humanly possible, if not for himself, then for Bones. The man was right about many things, more often than Jim usually wanted to admit, but he'd nailed one thing without question - Jim wanted to get out of the damned hospital as soon as they'd let him escape. So, he didn't fuss, didn't fidget, and didn't flinch as he obediently followed every direction the doctor gave him.

To be honest, he felt like a dog being asked to do tricks. _Wiggle your toes, tell me if you can feel this, close your eyes and touch your index fingers together - sorry if that hurt your shoulder. Read this paragraph aloud. Follow my finger with your eyes. _Jim almost asked if he needed to jump through a hoop or fetch a pair of slippers before they'd let him out, but he bit his tongue and smiled with artificial acquiescence. The sooner he got out of there, the sooner he could start his own investigation. Then he could get to the bottom of this, and find the person who almost killed him... who _had _killed Tambe.

After a highly unpleasant test that had Jim's muscles twitching in ways that no human muscles should twitch, the doctor announced that his progress seemed excellent. Jim hoped that meant they'd go away, but no such luck. He tried not to panic as they announced they were taking him out of the room, but it was just for a few scans, the doctor said. Cellular-level imaging, more detailed than the biobed could handle, so Jim found himself trying not to feel claustrophobic as they lowered the imaging scanner over his head and torso. He'd never been claustrophobic before in his life, but hey, none of this was exactly normal for him, so he figured it was all part of being miserable and uncomfortable by sheer virtue of being stuck in his own personal hell.

The imaging device sounded noisy and hollow, and as it powered up before each pass, Jim swore it sounded like the engine of a shuttlecraft powering up. The mild claustrophobia turned into something else, and Jim found himself digging the fingers of his good hand into the pad of the biobed. He fought the images threatening to push to the forefront of his thoughts - the engine of the shuttlecraft struggling to push power to the impulse drive, powering up and failing, failing, failing. The hollow sound of the dead ship spiraling through the vacuum towards the barren surface of another planet. Jim refused to let those thoughts claim him, so he clenched his teeth and forced himself to think about every stupid distracting thing he could imagine, clinging to both his narrow thread of sanity and to the mattress until the shadow over his face retreated and he opened his eyes to find the imaging device being pulled away.

"So, do I still have a brain in there, doc," he began shakily, "or were they right when they told me I'd lost my mind ages ago?"

Doctor Livingston smiled down at him as he walked alongside the gurney as it was pushed down the hall. "Your brain is doing wonderfully, and so is your spinal cord, Cadet Kirk. Amazingly well, really. Everything looks excellent, and you're ready to have that shunt removed. You'll be out of here before you know it. I should like to do a case study on you, I believe, for comparative therapy techniques for traumatic brain injury."

"I'd rather you didn't," Jim said flatly, but the doctor just smiled that same patronizing grin and patted his knee again. If Jim's hip hadn't still been in an immobilizer, he'd have kicked the guy. Livingstong was pleasant, sure – kind of a sweet old man, really – but it was driving Jim nuts.

"It would help advance the field of trauma medicine, Kirk," he said with a jolly tone that made Jim scowl. "The data from your case could help someone else someday."

"I'll let you know if I'm willing later," Jim said darkly, even though he was certain that his tone would be lost on the old doc. Then he blinked and looked around as they wheeled him into a room that was most decidedly _not _the room he'd been staying in. "Where am I?" He tried to sit up, but Livingston gently pressed a hand against his chest, holding him down with surprising ease.

"Surgical Ward Three," he said lightly, as if announcing something as mundane as the weather forecast. "Your imaging scans were excellent, so we can remove that shunt now. I told you before we took you into the imaging suite, that if everything was right as rain, we'd be able to take it out right away. You seemed pleased with that prospect."

"Wait… you mean, _right away_, right away?" Jim stammered, only now putting his current situation together with what Doctor Livingston had told him earlier.

"What other sort of _right away _is there?" he asked cheerfully. Too fucking cheerfully. "As I said, your scans were excellent. Couldn't have hoped for better. You'll wake up without a hole in your head, young man."

On one level, having them remove the thing that was poking into his brain sounded like a great idea. On another level, a much more immediate and urgent level, Jim realized that they were dragging him into surgery and he wasn't ready for it. Yes, they'd told him, but he hadn't actually remembered them telling him, and suddenly he was stuck there. It was all too sudden.

"Wait... wait! Can't we just... how about a moment here? A bit of warning?" Jim felt his words stumbling and blurring together in his mouth.

"Relax, Kirk," Livingston said gently, soothingly. "It's okay. There's no reason to delay this. It's a very simple procedure, and you'll be back in recovery in no time. You won't remember any of this."

Even as Jim felt his panic begin to rise, he felt something else... a bizarre sense of weight beginning to grip his body, like the blood in his own veins was too heavy. It was like drunkenness without the euphoria, exhaustion without the relaxation. He turned his head to the side, which took far more effort than it should have, and saw that the nurse was doing something to that fucking tube in his arm, and Jim knew she had already started the sedatives. "No… I don't want to sleep. I want to remember... need to... remember..." His words were heavy, too, and felt distant and numb in his mouth.

"Now why would you want to remember something like this? You'll wake up in a little while, and it will feel like no time has passed at all. Just a quick nap. That's not so bad."

Why did he sound so happy about this? Couldn't he see that Jim was frantic? But no, Jim couldn't move, couldn't speak, and the Doctor merely patted his shoulder with what he suspected was supposed to be a reassuring touch. "We'll take good care of you. Just relax."

_Don't fucking want to relax, you goddamned bastard_, Jim's brain supplied, but his mouth wouldn't form the words._  
_  
"Good, good," he heard the doctor say. "Just breathe, Kirk. No need to worry."

_How the hell am I supposed to not worry,_ Jim thought frantically, _when I feel like I want to jump out of my skin... if I could move... I can't move..._

Sure, they were trying to help him. Bones said that, and he trusted Bones. And it would all be fine... but who gave a shit about the outcome when right now, he was hurtling beyond his control towards a heavy crash and oblivion? Coherent thought slipped away from him as darkness closed in, muffling and finally extinguishing the burning panic and unbridled betrayal.

.&.

"Ah good, yeh made it, McCoy!" Despite the enthusiasm in Lieutenant Scott's voice, it was the quietest Leonard had ever heard him speak. It was almost difficult to hear what he was saying above the wind off the bay. "Didn't know if you'd figure out that I wasn't just trying to schedule a tutoring session."

"Yeah, I did." Leonard heaved his bag onto the old picnic table and took in their location. It was one of the old walking paths between the main campus on the Presidio and the hangar and equipment facilities down on the East campus. Feeling distinctly uneasy, he sat down. "To be honest… I didn't know if you were pulling my leg or not. Why are we meeting out here?"

"Figured it was a good spot between the hangar and the main campus." He leaned in closer. "Plus, not so many prying eyes. Same reason I made the message so cryptic."

"And there are only so many reasons for cryptic messages," Leonard said cautiously.

"Aye, and only one you'd probably care about."

"So you've got new information about the crash?" Leonard asked in a rush. He'd been pretty sure that's why Scott had called him down, but he couldn't keep calm any longer. "Something you figured out from the recording?"

"Nae, McCoy. Bigger." He pulled out his own PADD, placed it on the table between them, and activated it. "Well, perhaps I was looking for it because of what yeh told me, but… oh hell, yeh know I shouldn't be tellin' yeh any of this."

Leonard held up one hand in oath. "Not a word, Scott. I just need to know what happened to my friend."

Scott nodded. "Aye, and that's why I want to help yeh. Yer an honorable soul." His expression turned darker. "Not everyone has the same sense of ethics, yeh know." He shook his head. "But that's why I trust I can tell you… that I'm on the engineering investigation team for the crash now."

It shouldn't have surprised Leonard – Lieutenant Scott was engineering faculty at the Academy, and was brilliantly insightful – but he still felt a jolt of surprise run through his stomach. "What have you seen?" he asked eagerly.

He held out his hands, indicating for Leonard to slow down. "Easy there, laddie. Before I tell you, yeh have to know that I'm not privy to everything. Just examinin' what physical evidence they'll let me have – which, by the way, isn't much – and reviewing the computer models for accuracy."

"Computer models?" Leonard asked cautiously.

Scott's face perked up slightly, and his eyes glinted deviously. "Ah yes. I had a wee chat with the computer last night after scavenging through the shoddy bits of wreckage they want us to analyze." His eyes went deadly serious. "There's almost nothing left, McCoy. Yer friend is a lucky bastard."

A sick feeling which was becoming too familiar twisted in Leonard's gut. As damaged as Jim was, it could have been far worse. "Yeah, I know."

Scott nodded. "So… here… I want you to take a look at this computer model."

Leonard leaned over the PADD. "What am I seeing here?" The display was a mess of symbols and physics equations that he could only vaguely recognize as anything penned by a human hand.

"This is a momentum analysis of the shuttlecraft's trajectory as it approached Mars," Scott said evenly, sounding almost the way he sounded when he was teaching in class.

For a moment, Leonard had a sudden surge of distrust and fear – Scott was an officer and a member of the Engineering staff – but that was ridiculous. He wasn't about to turn paranoid. He'd decided that he trusted Lieutenant Scott. Besides, in reality, the man was actually risking his career to discuss classified information. Leonard nodded slowly. "Okay… so what can you tell from it?"

"Well," Scott said as he pointed to one part of the graph, "if yeh analyze the course the shuttle took as it approached the planet, taking into account the gravity from the planet and the mass of the shuttle, you can match the actions of the engines to the precise course variations."

"In English, sir?"

Scott gave him an impatient look. "The shuttle should move a certain way based on its exact mass."

"How would you know the mass of a shuttle?" Leonard asked, frowning.

"Well, in the earliest shuttles, the poor blokes weighed every nugget they brought on board. But these days, its part of the shuttle's internal sensors and the pre-flight checks. And that gets recorded and transmitted automatically before the shuttle gets clearance to depart."

Leonard got an odd feeling. "Where are you going with this?"

"Simple, McCoy. Too damned simple. We figure Kirk saw something in the engine, but we had no proof. I needed to find something that shouldn't have been there. The shuttle recorded the payload of the two passengers… oh to hell with it… the shuttle was just about four kilos too heavy!"

Leonard blinked. "Wait… what… how?"

"Hell if I know. But look here… watch. This is what the shuttle would have done at the reported total mass." He tapped the screen of the PADD and a simulation activated. One frame showed a generated image of a shuttle, overlaid on a grid showing roll, pitch, and altitude. Next to it, another frame summarized the data into a three-dimensional line graph. The line grew across the screen as the shuttle pitched and rolled. When it finally stopped, Scott ran his finger along the line and said, "This represents what we should have seen, based on the total mass we thought the shuttle had. Now this..." He tapped the screen again, and another line began to move. It started out similarly, but after about 1/3 of the simulation, it was clear that the movement was following a different course. Not grossly different, but...

"It's enough to prove something was on that shuttle that shouldn't have been there?" Leonard asked, feeling his gut clench.

"Aye. That's exactly what it proves." His fierce look of determination faded into a grimace. "But there's not a damned way to find out _what_added the extra mass to the shuttle."

The tight clench turned into a nauseating hollow sensation. "No way at all? Wouldn't there be spare pieces in the wreckage? Something that isn't part of the shuttlecraft itself?"

Scott's mouth twisted grimly. "McCoy... when I said that most of the shuttle was vaporized... I really wasn't making a play for melodrama. Aside from that... I've not been in the hangar myself." He hunched in even closer towards Leonard. "I've received trajectory data, engine readings, and a few wires they wanted me to test for trace radiation. I've not really seen the damage with my own eyes. They've got that hanger locked up tighter than my grandfather's bagpipes."

Despite the topic of conversation, Leonard raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Better not to ask. But anyway, if you'll pardon the saying, we're flying blind."

Leonard looked at Lieutenant Scott's sincerely remorseful expression, and considered his options. Clearly, this was a man who valued truth over protocol, and respect over rank. They were both already pushing their luck, and Leonard knew he was about to push further.

"Can we get into the hangar?"

.&.

Jim swam through the fog of sleep, and the first thing he was aware of was the fact that he should be furious at something. Or somebody. He wasn't quite sure why, and if he could just think past the fog wrapped around his brain, he'd figure it out and give someone hell. Still, he was sleepy enough that it would have been so easy to drift back down into the fog, to let sleep reclaim him before he climbed out of the quiet darkness.

But he couldn't. It wasn't quiet.

Somewhere beyond the fog, there were voices, and he wondered if those were the people who had pissed him off. The voices were muffled and vague. Unfamiliar. He tried to say something, but his mouth wasn't working.

"... not going to wake him up so you can interrogate him, Admiral." A man's voice cut through the fog. Gentle, even though Jim was sure he didn't like it for some reason.

"He's out of the ICU, doctor, and this investigation is a matter of pressing concern... Starfleet security hinges on the findings of this investigation, and Kirk is our only eye witness." A deep voice, this time. Rough. He could hear the words, but they weren't really making sense. He recognized his own name, though; they were talking about him.

"Well, he'll still be here in an hour, when he wakes up naturally. There's still a lot of sedative in his system." That was the first voice again, and it was almost familiar, Jim noted.

"And is there any risk to him if you administer a stimulant to wake him up now?"

Something in that sentence finally solidified into a meaningful thought. _Don't give me anything else_, Jim thought distantly. He would have protested, but his body was heavy and numb, and his mouth just didn't want to turn his thoughts into words. Sleep was still clinging to him thickly, and while he could hear the words around him, only some of them made sense. If nothing else, he was aware enough to realize that he was sick and tired of people poking at him. And whoever these people were, he knew one thing - none of them was Bones. And that being the case, they could all fuck off and leave him in peace to sleep off the damned drugs they'd already given him.

But the voices didn't leave. In fact, the one he thought was familiar spoke again, closer this time. "No, it won't put him at any risk." He sounded resigned. "It would just be preferable to let the young man get some rest. He's had a busy day."

"He can rest after we speak to him." That was a different voice. A woman this time. "Do it."

If he'd been able to move at all, he would have ducked to avoid the hypospray that his instinct told him was coming, but it never came. However, the heavy feeling in his arms and legs started to dissipate, and he was suddenly able to blink and open his eyes.

The world slowly swam into focus. There were two officers in the room, and as the blurriness resolved, he could make out the ranks of Admiral and Captain on their uniforms. Off to the side was that pudgy old doctor who had - _Oh, I remember now,_ Jim thought bitterly. _That's why I'm pissed at him_. Ignoring the two officers for the moment, he turned his head towards the doctor. "So, did you plug the hole in my head, doc?" His voice cracked, and his throat felt thick and scratchy, and he coughed to clear it.

"Your head is right as rain, Cadet." He offered a warm smile along with a glass of water, complete with a straw. "You might feel some disorientation for a while. And that's not to dismiss the fact that it still takes time to recover from a head injury anyway, but you're doing as well as could possibly be expected." He held the glass out.

Jim accepted the glass of water and took a long, cool sip, and for a moment, he was almost ready to forgive the old doctor for springing a surprise like that on him earlier. But then the doc's smile faded, and it was clear he was quite uneasy about something. "If you'll excuse me though, I believe these officers wish to speak to you." He glanced up at the two officers, and something angry darkened the man's usually jolly features. Then he turned and hurried out the door.

Jim swallowed thickly and turned to look at the two officers who were hovering at the end of the biobed. The Admiral was a fairly tall man with a slightly thickset frame, hair that had once been dark brown or black but had mostly given over to grey, and was sporting a moustache that had to be longer than regulation allowed. The female Captain standing just behind him was actually taller, with blond hair pulled into a severe bun, and an icy gaze to match.

Despite the fact that he'd wanted to speak to someone about the crash, the sabotage, and the possible threat… he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be left the hell alone. With the two officers seeming to hover over him, and the sudden change of scenery and events, Jim was suddenly really fucking uncomfortable with all of this. He didn't know these people, and he didn't like the vibe they were giving off. Besides, Bones had said that nobody could get to him without his permission, yet here these two people were, with no warning. It felt intrusive and invasive and _can they just leave?_  
_  
_Still, neither of them seemed inclined to leave him alone, no matter what perfectly sane excuse he could give them. _Damn, last time I checked, brain surgery was a perfectly legitimate excuse to get a note from the doctor. _There was no avoiding this, so he'd best be on his guard. "Sirs?"

The Captain stepped forward, holding out a voice recorder probe, while the Admiral began speaking.

"Cadet Kirk, we need to ask you some questions pertaining to the events leading up to the shuttle crash."

"I see," was all Jim dared to say. He had no idea what these two were looking for, but his gut instinct told him not to reveal too much.

"Kirk, we're sorry to have to do this so abruptly, but I'm sure you can appreciate the urgency of the situation."

_You're not sorry at all, you bastard_, Jim thought bitterly, feeling a rapid surge of irritation overtaking his discomfort. Still, he couldn't keep his cynicism fully to himself. "Urgency? Where was the urgency when they needed to beam me out? _And_ Tambe. Five seconds! Why was five seconds so hard?"_  
_  
"We're reviewing that now, Cadet, and I assure you, every action taken by the transporter staff at the Mars Orbiter II will be thoroughly investigated."

"How nice. Let me know what Tambe's parents and girlfriend say about that."

The Admiral's face tightened. "Kirk, I understand what you might be going through."

"Do you now?" He knew he was starting to cross a very distinct line, if he hadn't already crossed it, and soon, even his physical condition wasn't going to be enough of an excuse. Still, he didn't much care.

"You're not the first person who's lost a comrade in the line of duty, Kirk," he said dourly, and Jim realized that the man couldn't have made the rank of Admiral without suffering some losses along the way. "It doesn't get easier, but I'm sorry your first loss came like this."

"It's hardly the first loss I've had in space, sir." It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Briefly, the Admiral looked like he'd been slapped, and Jim felt a flash of satisfaction at the sight. "I stand corrected, Cadet Kirk," he said, with a marked emphasis on the last name. Jim wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but it seemed that the Admiral wasn't going to harp on it. "But then, as a man cut from Starfleet cloth, you understand that we must still do our duty, even in the physical and emotional aftermath of such tragedies. We still need to get to the truth behind this incident."

With obviously faked casualness, he leaned on the arm of the guest chair next to the biobed, folding his hands over his knees. "Kirk, it was reported that you said the shuttle was sabotaged. According to the statements by the medics from the Mars Orbiter, you were insistent, despite being severely injured." He leaned in, just a few inches, but enough that Jim felt he was closing on his personal space. "Now that you're awake and lucid, we need your official statement."

The Captain was still hovering there with the voice recorder, and Jim's bold irritation rapidly dissolved back into discomfort, and he felt claustrophobic for the second time that day. It was like a roller-coaster ride, where directions and sensations were changing too rapidly, and he had no control over it. And suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was to discuss the nightmare of his last shuttlecraft flight. Didn't want to think about it. Certainly didn't want to go over it in detail with these two people he didn't know and didn't trust. It was too painful, too fresh, too much.

He pushed his back deeper into the pillows, wishing that his hips were out of the immobilizer so he could at least bring up his knees. He felt far too exposed. "My official statement?" he parroted uneasily. "I..."

The Admiral affected what Jim guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile. It looked far too forced. "We just need to know what you saw, from your point of view."

"You have the flight recorder data, don't you?" Even though he'd meant it to sound firm, his voice sounded tight in his own ears.

"We do."

"Then you know as much as I know. More, probably." _Why do we have to do this now? Bones said nobody would come in without my say-so. _"Can we do this later?"

"I'm sorry, Kirk, but no." The Admiral leaned forward, just an inch. "I know you're not in the most comfortable of situations, so don't worry about sounding formal. Just tell us what you saw. In your own words, Cadet Kirk, if you would, please." It wasn't a question.

_Uncomfortable isn't the half of it_. Taking a deep breath and wishing that something - _anything_ - would interrupt this conversation, he launched into the most detached rendition of the flight he could manage. From breaking orbit, to his final, last-ditch efforts to save himself and Tambe, he rattled it off as if he was reading someone else's mission report, or the contents of a tricorder's technical manual, or even the weather forecast. Anything to pretend it wasn't his own memory he was drawing from. It almost worked, too._  
_  
No, it didn't.

The memories came flooding back as he spoke, garbled and frantic. Burned into his thoughts, unavoidable. His voice sounded detached and steady to his own ears, but he could also hear the creaking and groaning of the shuttlecraft's hull… the voices from the Mars Orbiter… his own voice yelling back… and knowing that the deafening crash was only moments away. It was only his desperate clinging to his irritation and defensiveness that kept him steady.

"And at that point," Jim finally said, "I cut power to all systems except life support and the inertial dampeners... and waited."

"Why did you maintain power to the inertial dampeners when the crew from the Mars Orbiter II instructed you to cut power to _all _non-essential systems?" the Captain asked.

Jim wasn't sure if she was scowling at him, or if that was just her permanent facial expression. At this point, he was almost shaking with pent-up emotions that he was desperately trying to bury, and didn't much care about this Captain's attitude. "Because if we crashed, _sir_, then it seemed like the only chance we'd have to survive the impact."

"That seems sensible," the Admiral cut in. "But Kirk, we need more information to support your claim of sabotage."

"I told you what I remember."

The Admiral shook his head. "It's not enough."

Cynicism caused his teeth to clench, which elicited a wave of pain in his head. _Dammit_. "What I saw..." His mouth was open, but suddenly there were no words. And that was just it - he knew he'd seen something that shouldn't have been there, but he couldn't recall _what_. "I told you... there was something in the engine," he finally said, weakly, uncertainly.

"Would you care to define 'something,' Cadet?" The Captain was still scowling down at him.

Not appreciating the imposed power dynamic of this sour-tempered woman hovering over him, Jim shot a glare at her. "I'd love to, Captain," he said acerbically, "but I think having my head slammed into the control board in the shuttlecraft, when I... you know... _crashed_, has left the details a little bit fuzzy."

"Captain Weise," the Admiral cut in, "give the young man a chance to remember. This hasn't been easy on him."

For a split second, Jim was almost tempted to say 'thanks,' but quickly realized he had nothing to thank either of them for. They were trying to play good-cop, bad-cop with him. Frowning, he looked at the Admiral. "Listen, I remember that there was something in the engine. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. It was small, maybe a bit bigger than a tricorder."

"Was it attached to anything?" the Captain asked coldly.

"I don't know! I don't remember anything else." He glanced sideways at the Admiral, eyes narrowed. "Is there a reason this feels like an interrogation?"

Surprise blossomed across the Admiral's face, only to be quickly covered with a look of solemn neutrality. "This wasn't meant to feel like an interrogation, Kirk. You'll have to forgive Captain Weise's approach. We've been working on this investigation since the day of the crash, and everyone is quite upset by this."

"Really, now?"

Something in the Admiral's face shifted, and he gave what looked like the first open and honest expression he'd worn since Jim had opened his eyes. "Really, Kirk. The entire campus is mourning for Cadet Tambe. There will be a memorial service for her tomorrow, closed to the public - no media coverage. And while we've managed to keep your name out of the media, everyone on campus knows you were in the shuttlecraft that went down." His face cracked a broken but seemingly authentic smile. "You must have some good friends on campus, Kirk. The reporters would have a field day if anyone had leaked your name, but there hasn't been a peep."

Jim wasn't sure if he should feel relieved by the knowledge that people were being respectful of his privacy, uneasy that the whole campus knew anyway, or completely appalled at the idea that the media would have a feeding frenzy over him if they caught a whiff of his name attached to this fiasco. Better not to think about it at all, he figured. Right now, his problem was dealing with the two officers in the room. "Glad to hear it," he said slowly, then clarified, with emphasis, "You know… that I've got some privacy left."

If the Admiral understood the hint, he didn't show it. "And friends, Kirk." He nodded slowly. "Despite early misgivings over your psych profile and personal history, you've performed admirably here. And it seems people respect that."

_I should hope so_, Jim thought warily, distantly grateful that his psych profile didn't have half the things on it that probably should have been there - Pike had managed to keep last year's discovery of his history on Tarsus IV off his permanent record, and it would stay that way... provided there were no issues that interfered with his training. He'd done so well, too, he thought wistfully. He really had. "Well, I'm glad I've managed to overcome people's 'misgivings'," he said with mock-appreciation. Really, he just wanted these people to leave now. "But that's all I remember, sir. And really, I'm tired, and my head hurts, so I'd like to -"_  
_  
The Admiral held up one hand, silencing him. "Kirk, that's not everything we came to ask you."

Trying to keep his nerves in check, Jim blew out a slow breath. "Okay then... how about we cut to the chase."

The Admiral nodded once. "You've got friends, Kirk. What I need to know is if you have any enemies."

Jim frowned. "I don't think so..." Then he shook his head. Sure, he'd pissed off a few instructors with his antics - he almost cracked a smile when Commander Toland came to mind - but his record was actually flawless. And there were a few cadets who would love to best him in hand-to-hand or tactics, but that was all friendly competition. Really, there was nobody.

"Kirk?"

Nobody... well... maybe somebody. There was some damned unidentified madman who'd killed his father, but that would be an impossible connection. No, that ship was never seen or heard from again. Oh, and there was a genocidal maniac who'd had him tortured as boy - _don't think about it, don't think about it _- but Kodos was dead. And Jim had dealt with that trauma. He wasn't going to re-visit it. He'd done enough of that last year when -

And he froze. It was like a kick in the gut. Actually, more like a stab to the chest. "Terra Prime." It came out like a gasp, as if he was being strangled. Maybe he was - the air was too thick, and his chest was too tight. The Captain was hovering over him with the recorder, and the Admiral was staring at him. He'd never quite felt so trapped before. Hell, just a year ago, he'd been taken hostage by terrorists, but this time, he really felt caged. Tethered to a biobed, immobilized, and injured – he couldn't even walk away if he wanted to. Still trying to breathe through the air that was too thick and too hot, he looked back and forth between them. "Is there... do you think it could have been Terra Prime?"

"Terra Prime?" the Admiral asked, his tone authentically confused. "Why on earth would you suspect them?"

Jim blinked, realizing distantly that maybe these two officers _didn't _know he'd been involved. And he wasn't sure if he should tell them. "I… I know they attacked the campus last year."

"But why would you believe they would be involved in this?" The Admiral was digging now.

And Jim was even less sure of himself. He shook his head and whispered, "I don't know," but his mind was spinning.

The possibility that a terrorist had infiltrated the campus... had sabotaged his shuttle... had killed his classmate and friend... it was overwhelming. And he wasn't safe. If Terra Prime had done it, then none of them were safe. And he was helpless. Trapped, and helpless.

.&.


	6. Chapter 6

Leonard hoisted Jim's bag higher on his shoulder as he hurried down the hallway of the ICU, his thoughts still spinning with the events of the previous few hours, and his heart beating just a bit too fast.

No, Lieutenant Scott was absolutely certain that they couldn't get into the hangar. They'd made a try for the laboratory building, but although Scott could get past the East Campus gate, the guard hadn't been impressed with his attempt to bring one of his students along. Not even a student who _really _needed help studying for an exam.

However, there was a chance that the Practical Engineering labs might open before the rest of the hangar complex, so maybe they'd get in soon. And even if they didn't, Scott still had access to those labs, if not the hangar itself. He was supposed to be researching the crash from a theoretical standpoint anyway. Nobody had to know that he had additional information supplementing his research... just like nobody else needed to know that one Doctor Leonard McCoy was almost desperate to know what he'd find.

They'd parted ways at the gate, with Scott promising to _send him notes _on the class material, and Leonard promising in turn that he'd study hard for the test. The guise of a tutoring session would be sufficient to cover any future meetings.

Leonard's rational side kept telling him that this whole venture should make him nervous, but he wasn't. Maybe he just trusted his gut instinct about Lieutenant Scott enough. Maybe he was so low on the totem poll that nobody would notice his snooping. Or maybe, where Jim was involved, his other considerations seemed insignificant.

That was enough for him.

After leaving Lieutenant Scott behind, he'd decided that he needed to actually take care of a few things that had fallen by the wayside since Wednesday. He'd stopped by the cell bio lab to check his samples, only to find half of them dead because he'd missed Wednesday's afternoon lab session and had forgotten to check in. He'd reluctantly gone to his own research lab – the crowded room where he and his small team had spent months developing his neurovascular regen units. At least, in that lab, the med student and tech working with him had kept an eye on their tissue specimens. Then he'd spent a nerve-wracking hour in that room, dictating his observations and results from the only in-vivo test to which his devices had ever been subjected, and trying not to think about what would happen when the medical board inevitably began their review of the incident.

Finally, he'd stopped by Jim's room to pack a few of the kid's personal belongings in a bag. If Leonard knew Jim, and he was pretty sure he did, the kid was already going stir-crazy, and the better he felt, the worse that would get. So, grateful that Jim had given him access to his dorm room the previous year, Leonard had let himself in, and had filled a duffel with some of Jim's clothes, his PADD, and even a couple of those beat-up paper books he seemed to love. He'd thought Jim might like that.

That was when his comm had beeped. The message had been simple enough – Jim was out of surgery, and, as the message read, "_could use some company_." The simplicity was odd enough, but much more bizarre was the fact that the text message hadn't been signed. The comm system automatically tagged messages with the sender. Leonard had no idea what the lack of identification meant, but he didn't much like it, and his instinct was telling him that something wasn't quite right. It was enough to set him running back to the transport shuttle across the bay.

He nodded to the woman sitting at the Duty Nurse's station without breaking stride, and was almost to Jim's door when he heard her call to him.

"Wait, Doctor McCoy –"

He glanced back over his shoulder as he walked through the doorway. "Just a minute – I need to check on -" And Leonard stopped cold. The room was empty.

He spun around to see the duty nurse just catching up to him. "I was trying to tell you, Doctor, that they -"

"They moved Jim without notifying me?" He glared at her, and was oddly satisfied to see her flinch briefly before she regained her composure.

"You didn't answer your comm, and his primary doctor authorized it." She said, not backing down. "He was progressing ahead of schedule, and all his scans today came back so much improved that they decided he'd be more comfortable in a regular room after surgery. Maybe his other friends could come see him tomorrow."

"Yeah," Leonard growled. "They would think that." He sighed and shook his head. He figured Jim's flight squad would want to see him eventually, and he'd figured on contacting them tomorrow, when Jim was out of the ICU. Well, maybe a visit would help him start healing the things that doctors couldn't help. But Jim was feeling vulnerable, and for good reason, and he'd assured Jim that nobody could enter his room without authorization while he was in the ICU. Of course, he couldn't imagine them letting anyone hassle Jim right now anyway, so it would probably be fine. "Okay, where is he?"

The nurse's shoulders relaxed just a bit. "Sixth floor, patient room 627."

With as cordial of a nod as he could manage, Leonard turned and hurried back down the hall to the turbolift, which quickly deposited him on the sixth floor. He strolled down the hall, reassuring himself with the fact that if Jim had been removed from the ICU, it could only mean he'd made excellent progress. However, when he saw a uniformed officer – a _familiar _uniformed officer – standing in the hall outside one of the patient doors, Leonard's feet started moving faster.

He didn't even bother to check the numbered placards outside each of the rooms. That was Jim's room... and if his gut instinct served him as well as he hoped, that one officer outside meant there were more of the soul-sucking leeches inside, probably hassling Jim when he _should _be recovering quietly. Leonard could make out voices coming from the room now, including Jim's voice, which sounded noticeably flustered. His pace picked up even more, and he didn't slow down until he was nose to nose with -

"Commander Toland," he bit out, not really caring that his manner was blatantly at the edge of propriety. He was at Starfleet Medical. Toland outranked him, but he was still a Staff Physician until they pulled that from him. This was his turf, and she was blocking the door. "If you'll excuse me."

"I'm sorry, McCoy, but there's an official investigation going on right now, and the Admiral is questioning a key witness." Despite the cold and distinctly formal tone of voice, there was something almost indiscernible in Toland's eyes that looked like an apology, and Leonard suddenly remembered her bizarre comment from the other day.

_Oh, is that the deal_, he thought cynically. He didn't care about procedures and protocols - Jim was on the other side of that door, and he was going in there, whether some self-absorbed bits of Starfleet brass liked it or not._  
_  
"Your key witness is still recovering from brain surgery, Commander. I don't know what goes on in the fantasy world of Starfleet's JAG office, but in the real world, we understand that interrogating someone in Cadet Kirk's condition is just plain stupid. You could traumatize him even worse, and his memory may be compromised."

"Doctor McCoy," she began, with an odd strain in her voice. "Now that Kirk is out of the ICU, he's open to visitors. _Any_visitor. I'm sure his friends will want to see him as soon as they find out." Her voice dropped in pitch. "If there's any chance that his testimony is corrupted, whether by friends or the media, it won't hold up as well in the investigation."

Sure, it made sense, Leonard knew, but he doubted that Jim's worried and frantic friends would cause more corruption in his testimony than a bunch of belligerent officers hassling him in a hospital room. Not wanting to explain himself, or even give room for an argument, Leonard stepped into her personal space. "Understood. However, Commander, I'm a staff doctor, and that's my patient in there. Until I think he's fit to be interrogated, with all due respect, screw your investigation. I'm going in."

To Leonard's shock, she stepped aside. He raised an eyebrow in query.

Toland met his eyes without flinching. "You're a staff doctor, and you _are _listed on Kirk's roster of attending physicians. You know your Starfleet Medical regulations, McCoy, and the rules are the rules." Somehow, she didn't seem angry at him, or even irritated; her voice was carefully neutral. "So go ahead. Also... what took you so long to get here?"

Leonard's head spun with something that he should be putting together but couldn't, and he felt his mouth drop slightly with surprise and a twist of gratitude as he suddenly remembered the anonymous message. He was just about to step forward when a red light flashed over the door of Jim's room. That was the alarm indicating that the patient's vital signs had taken an unexpected turn. "_Shit!_"

The door slid open, and it only took Leonard a heartbeat to take in the whole scene. An Admiral was leaning back against the arm of the visitor's chair on the far side of Jim's bed while a stern-looking Captain hovered too close to Jim with what looked like an audio-recorder. And there was Jim, in the middle, looking pale and sweaty and frantic and –

"Bones!" His voice was weak and desperate, something that seemed like a hundred types of _wrong _on Jim Kirk, and only spurred Leonard's building fury even more.

The Captain turned towards him, quickly looking him over and scowling. "Cadet, what is the meaning -"

"Out of my way," he barked, not caring to explain himself, and wishing he wasn't wearing his cadet reds. He crossed quickly to Jim's bedside, practically elbowing the Captain out of the way as he punched the biobed controls, bringing up a more detailed scan. He felt a wave of relief to find that the alarm was only caused by elevated stress signs - increased heart rate, respiration, adrenaline levels - but that was followed by another surge of anger at the obvious cause of that stress. He turned his back to the biobed, almost feeling like he was setting himself as a barrier between the two officers and Jim.

"Get out of the room." Leonard's voice was even louder than he was expecting from himself, and he was more than a little bit pleased with the startled looks on the faces of the two piece-of-shit officers who had invaded his friend's recovery room. "I said," he repeated angrily, "clear out of the room, sirs."

The Captain, who had initially backed away from the bed, took a step forward with the obvious intent of confronting him, but the Admiral was already on his feet. "Cadet, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you can talk to your friend later. We're in the middle of –"

"Cadet-nothing, Admiral. In here, my title is _Doctor_ McCoy." He jerked a thumb towards the biobed monitor on the wall. "And whatever you're in the middle of doing, you've caused _my patient's _vital signs to trigger an alarm. So unless one of you has an M.D. to go along with your shiny rank, get out of the room."

On the surface, Leonard was sure that his face was a steel mask; cold, hard, and impervious to the vicious glare being leveled at him by a goddamned Admiral. On the inside, Leonard's mind was spinning with a dozen variations of _oh shit_. Yes, he was a staff doctor, but he was _also _a cadet – a rare combination, and in these tense circumstances, a difficult balance. This was his career, and his chance at a future, and it could all be walking out the door with the two furious senior officers. However, as the door slid shut behind them and Leonard turned back to Jim, he saw the look of stark relief and beads of sweat rolling off his friend's pale forehead, he knew he'd made the right call.

Breathing an unsteady sigh, Leonard made a quick check of Jim's vital signs on the display above the bed, which revealed that Jim's heart rate had already started to slow from the frantic pace it had set when Leonard had first come into the room. Nothing more horrible than a bit of stress. Jim was fine, physically. At least, no worse than he should be, considering his injuries. But something had shaken him terribly. Leonard grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and leaned against the side of Jim's biobed, reaching over to mop off the kid's forehead. He began worrying even more when Jim didn't pull away.

"Jim?"

No response. Jim was staring blankly across the room. If anything, he just barely leaned his forehead into the tissue in Leonard's hand. Frowning, Leonard reached down and pressed his fingers against the pulse in Jim's wrist, wondering if the physical contact might help. The pulse was thready and a bit too fast beneath Leonard's fingers, and Jim shivered slightly. "Jim?" he said again. "Come on, kid, talk to me."

"You said nobody was going to come in without permission," Jim said, his voice hoarse and just above a whisper.

"I know, Jim," Leonard breathed. "You were doing so well, they moved you out of ICU. Regular patient rooms don't have the same restrictions. But they still shouldn't have let those people in... not like that."

Jim's head shook, just slightly. "You said that nobody would come in," he said again, with an angrier tone this time, then glanced up, and his eyes were pinched with undefined emotions. "Where the hell were you?"

"I was..." There was no adequate answer that could possibly make this right. Leonard sighed heavily and gave Jim the most apologetic look he could muster. "I had that appointment with my instructor. And then I had to do some research, and take care of something in one of the labs. I knew they'd be busy with you most of the day. But I had no idea they'd do something like this, Jim. You've got to believe that."

After a second, Jim seemed to accept that with a tight nod. "Who else can get in?"

Leonard felt his jaw clench. "After I'm done ripping apart a few idiots with no concern for patient well-being? _Nobody _who doesn't have my goddamned permission or your informed consent." He shook his head in disgust. "What the hell did they say to you?"

"Nothing."

Leonard scowled and placed his face directly in Jim's line of sight. "And I'll believe that like I'll believe you're ready for a game of Parisi Squares tonight. Spill it, Jim."

Jim blinked slowly, and seemed to struggle to take a deep breath. "They just asked me what I remembered from the crash."

He'd figured as much, but he wasn't going to say so to Jim. "Did you have a flashback?"

"No, Bones. I'm fine." Jim glanced away, staring at the far wall.

"Stop that, Jim." He leaned over, his arms straddling Jim's legs, forcing Jim to face him. "What happened?"

"I just..." He blew out an unsteady breath. "I figured it out, Bones. I wish I hadn't, but it makes too much sense."

"What does, kid?"

"Terra Prime."

Leonard didn't think any other two words from Jim's mouth would have made his blood run cold like that. Sure, he'd thought about it himself, but he'd tried to dismiss the idea. It was too far-fetched. The terrorists didn't even know _who_ they'd kidnapped last year. Had no idea it was Jim Kirk who had blown up their bunker. And nobody who had _seen_him had survived, except one man who was still in maximum security lockdown. There was no way they could be targeting Jim... Leonard hoped.

But if Jim had come to that conclusion, he was afraid there would be no way to get it out of the kid's head. "Jim, there are so many possibilities right now. We can't assume –"

"Can't assume what?" Jim looked just a bit too wide-eyed, and it made Leonard's gut twist. "Can't assume that the terrorist organization that was skilled enough to blow up the Parisian Embassy and knock a Starfleet Satellite out of orbit wouldn't use those same skills to track down some Starfleet brat who ruined their latest bomb plot and then blew up their main headquarters?"

"I didn't say it was impossible. I just don't want to jump to conclusions and rule out everything else when we might miss the real answer." It was placating, he knew, because at the moment, it was the best answer he could come up with, too. But still... "Jim, it might have been coincidence. Hell, the person who did it might not have even known you were going to be in the shuttle. A simple coincidence."

Jim's face was pinched with emotion and strain, and he was staring at Leonard, teeth almost bared in effort. "Coincidence, Bones? Really? A year ago, I might have believed you, but at this point, I believe in coincidences as much as I believe in no-win scenarios. How many times can shit happen to a guy before he's got to conclude that there's _something _going on? I think I've had enough shit piled on my plate to know that I'm a target."

And maybe that's what Jim needed to believe. Maybe he couldn't handle the idea that Tambe had died, and he had come come that close to dying, all because of a damned coincidence. Maybe, if Jim thought he was a target, at least it would make some sort of sick sense to him. Personally, Leonard would have found some comfort in the idea of it all being coincidence. That would mean that Jim wasn't a target. That would mean that it wasn't malicious - at least, not against Jim personally. Really, there were a million other reasons why that shuttlecraft that Jim just _happened _to be piloting that day had suffered a catastrophic engine failure.

Leonard just couldn't think of any at the moment.

Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah, Bones. Just like that." His eyes narrowed. Then, as if struck by another realization, Jim's expression morphed from angry to shocked to scared in the span of a heartbeat. "Bones..." He shook his head nervously. "You got that comm from your instructor... which class was it for?

"I... my Engineering and Flight class."

"Engineering," Jim said with a heavy finality that landed like a punch to the gut. Leonard shook his head to himself. _No_. But Jim kept speaking, saying exactly the things that Leonard didn't want to let himself believe. "Bones... what if they pulled you away on purpose? I mean... you were gone, and they showed up. What if someone... in Starfleet – _shit_. That would explain how –"

"No, Jim. I had the appointment already," he lied, cutting Jim off quickly. "I was late, and it was a reminder note. That's all."

"And maybe someone else knew you had the appointment," Jim said in a rush. There was an unnerving edge of hysterics in his voice.

Leonard gave Jim a sharp look, hoping to cut through the paranoia, despite the fact that he was feeling a bit paranoid himself. "Maybe. Okay? There's a chance. But my appointment was early, and those officers only showed up a little while ago, right? I was done with my appointment by the time they got here."

Jim merely looked back at him cynically.

"Just don't let yourself start seeing ghosts, kid. You're looking for boogeymen. They pulled you out of the ICU because you were doing so well, and it was the first chance that you could be legally questioned about the crash. I had a tutoring appointment for my Engineering class because the class was canceled yesterday. That's all."

Leonard wanted to believe his own words. He didn't want to even let himself start to believe that Jim's conspiracy theory was correct, but it did look a little bit suspicious. He trusted Lieutenant Scott... right? But the guy was in the engineering department, and the admiral who'd just left Jim's room had been wearing a small Engineer emblem on his dress uniform. It was possible. Anything was possible. There were too many variables, too many possibilities. Coincidence... not coincidence... obvious answers... or something else altogether? His gut instinct usually gave him a clue, but today, it was just as confused as his head was.

He shook his head, wishing he could dislodge some of the information that was spinning around in there like useless debris, then leaned back, away from Jim.

"Bones?"

"Listen, let me go talk to the duty physician and security staff. First step first - let's make sure nobody hassles you until you're ready to deal with them." He stood up and walked to the bag he'd dropped by the door. "And in the meantime, I brought you some of your things." He placed it on the table by Jim's bed. "Some books, your PADD, and some of your own clothes." He finally cracked a smile. "By tomorrow, that hip immobilizer should come off and you might be able to change into something that makes you feel a bit more human."

A weak smile etched itself onto Jim's face. "Thanks, Bones." Then he frowned. "Will you come back?"

Confused, Leonard returned the frown. "You mean after I talk to the powers that be about the security for your room?"

"Well... yeah, but..." Jim looked away. "You took off, and it was... just out of control. Nobody asked... or warned me... they just..." He shuddered. "I still don't like being sedated. And I woke up from..." He ran a hand over the back of his head. "It's gone now, by the way. But I woke up, and those two officers were already in here."

"They came in while you were still sedated?" Leonard felt a hot and bitter flash of anger.

Jim nodded. "I don't like this, Bones. Not being able to get up and walk away from this. From people or situations. I've just got to get back on my feet again. But... until I do, I... could you... uh..."

A thin, sharp ache lodged itself in Leonard's throat, and it swallowed it down. Humoring Jim with the best grumble he could muster, he rolled his eyes. "I guess that means I'm gonna wake up with a sore neck again because of you." He reached over and ruffed Jim's hair.

"Hey! Hands off! That's a delicate piece of work up there," Jim fussed, ducking lightly out of the way. "And it's _bald_."

Leonard snorted. "They only shaved two centimeters."

"Still, they shaved my head. That might be a felony on some planets." He got a thoughtful look on his face, a sly grin of pure trouble that almost looked like the old Jim. "Hey, what species prefer bald men? Deltans are bald, and I've heard some incredible things about them."

Jim's sudden shift in mood was a welcome relief – it was the kind of thing he always did when he was ready to move on to something else. It was familiar and right and _Jim_. With a groan to hide his smile, Leonard reached over and mussed Jim's hair again. "Any Deltan you meet will have probably taken an oath of chastity – and no, Jim, you won't be the first human to make one of them break that oath, so forget about it. Besides, with a case of bed-head like that, I doubt any of them would care."

"Sure, take all the fun out of it."

He was already walking towards the door to hide his grin. "That's my job, you infantile troublemaker."

"How about a sponge bath from the PT nurse instead?"

Leonard waved a careless hand at Jim as he quickly escaped out the door before the kid saw the uncontrollable smile that had blossomed across his face, or the tears that had just started to blur his vision.

Damn, he'd missed Jim.

"So, how's it feel to be back on your feet?" Bones asked as he helped Jim settle back onto the biobed.

Jim gave a grunt as he levered himself into a comfortable position. "I'd hardly call being allowed to hobble around the room with support for a measly five minutes 'back on my feet,' but it felt pretty good. Just glad you finally removed that immobilizer."

"Any pain?" Bones asked as he pulled out a tricorder for a closer scan.

"No, just a bit of stiffness," Jim replied lightly, before winking at the PT nurse who'd been helping them.

That earned a scowl from Bones. "Incorrigible." He put down the tricorder and went to reconnect the IV line.

"You bet – hey!" Jim pulled his hand back. "I'm back on my feet, so isn't it time to get rid of this thing and go for some Chinese takeout?"

"You have the patience of a seven-year-old on Christmas morning," Bones scolded, ignoring Jim's protests and grabbing his hand. "One more day for your fractures to be solid enough to stop the osteoblast treatment, and with the amount of inflammation in your soft tissues, you still need pain meds." He face softened into a hint of sympathy once he'd finished snapping the line back into place. "But if your liver function is steady by tonight, maybe I'll bring you some lo mein."

"Don't need pain meds," Jim grumbled.

"Trust me, you do _not _want to test that theory right now, kid." Bones turned his back for a moment, grabbed the PADD the nurse had brought, tapped in a few comments, and handed it over to the nurse who thanked him and hurried out the door. Jim was slightly disappointed that she hadn't winked back, but was quickly distracted by Bones speaking again. "Besides, tell me how much you love hyposprays again?"

"Sadist."

"Because I care enough to inflict the very best," he retorted. "And you're almost ready to get out of here, Jim. This is amazing." Bones' voice held a note of awe, and Jim blinked.

"Really?" He couldn't quash the flash of hope he felt. Maybe they'd let him out of there tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Maybe he'd make it to classes tomorrow. He couldn't let himself fall behind in his classes. Maybe he'd have to skip live simulations for a couple of weeks – they'd probably put him on limited duty – but he could make those up.

Bones gave him a look of sheer incredulity. "Yes, really, you crazy space cowboy. Four days ago, I thought you were going to die on the table! I thought you'd be here for a month, at least. Now... good God, Jim, you've had no complications, no major setbacks. Three more days, four tops."

And in a heartbeat, Jim felt his hopes sinking again. "Three more days?"

The eyebrow of doom burned at him. "That's nothing, Jim. It'll be over before you know it. A bit of physical therapy, some work to finish stabilizing your neck and spine, and hell, you might only miss a week of classes. You'll only need to come in as an outpatient for follow-up PT. After something like this, even with modern medicine, it's nothing short of a miracle."

Jim didn't bother to hold back a sigh. "That's me - never doing anything the normal way."

"Jim," Bones said, using that tone of voice he had which bore no argument, "We almost lost you. I don't want you to leave too soon and re-fracture your pelvis because you bump into a table too hard or snap your clavicle if you put a heavy bag on your shoulder. You're alive and recovering. Please, just let that be enough."

No matter how strongly Jim wanted to meet Bones' heartfelt plea with a wise-crack or some sort of banter to break the tension, he couldn't. Finally, gritting his teeth, he nodded. "Okay. Fine. I'm just... bored."

At that, Bones actually grinned and stepped back. "Well, that's a great reason for some visitors."

Jim balked. "What? _Visitors_? Why the hell would I want anyone to see me like this? And besides, who the hell would want to see me?"

The smile disappeared from Bones' face, immediately replaced with a stung expression. "Lots of people, Jim," he said in a tone that Jim couldn't interpret. "More than you think. Especially your flight squad."

Jim realized the shock and guilt must have showed on his face when Bones nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, Jim, I got a request from your squad leader, asking if they could come see you."

A cold numbness hit Jim's gut. "Tambe was our squad leader, Bones."

The hiss of breath was audible. "I... I'm sorry, Jim. Your new squad leader. Cadet Okoru." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "They're upset, too, Jim. They could have lost both of you, but you made it. So let them have that."

Deep guilt welled up inside him. He hadn't even stopped to consider how the rest of the flight squad was handling this. Tambe was their squad leader, too. Granted, he'd been preoccupied, but still, he should have thought of them. He'd been transmitting on all frequencies; they must have heard his calls for help. They must have watched his shuttle go down. They were his teammates. If he'd been in their shoes, watching one of the other shuttles going down... it must have been horrifying. Slowly, Jim felt himself nodding. "Okay. I'll do it."

Bones gave an encouraging smile. "I'm glad, Jim. It'll be good for you, whether you think so or not." Then he glanced back over his shoulder at the door. "Actually, Jim, I've got to go."

Jim sat a bit more upright. "Wait, why?"

Bones' shoulders slumped a bit, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He looked tired, and Jim vaguely realized he was at least partially responsible for his friend's exhaustion. "Jim, I can't stay here all day. You're awake and alert, and I've talked with Security to make sure nobody hassles you if you don't want them here. And I need to go do a few things."

"Like what?" It sounded petulant to his own ears, but he didn't care at the moment. Hospitals were, as a rule, generally kinda creepy. Having Bones around made it… tolerable.

"I need to go back to my dorm room, for one. I've been wearing my cadet reds all weekend because I haven't had a chance to go back to my own room. Cleaned them in the staff locker room refresher last night, but still. I went to your room instead to get your clothes, and had figured I'd go back to my own room to change last night, but I stayed here."

"Oh." He couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty.

"It's okay, Jim. But I've also need to stop by the lab for my Cellular Biology course and transfer a set of Tellarite epithelial cells for this week's experiment. The last set died because I forgot about them last week, and I restarted them yesterday. And eventually, I'm going to have to start seeing my regular patients again. I've got clinic tomorrow night." His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm a goddamned staff physician at Starfleet Medical, and I'm still a cadet. Will the world ever stop mocking me?"

Jim tried for a smirk of his own. "If it does, I'll pinch-hit."

Bones rolled his eyes skyward. "Great. Just what I need - the universe and Jim Kirk, tag-teaming to torment me." He sighed at Jim's self-satisfied grin. "And on that note, don't give any of the nurses or doctors any trouble while I'm gone. You're not scheduled for anything they'd knock you out for, so don't worry. Some physical therapy late afternoon, and possibly some neurostim. You'll like it - feels a bit tingly. I'll send a message to Cadet Okoru that the squad can stop by later. And here -" He reached into the duffel bag on the table and pulled out a PADD. "- is your PADD." He dropped it on Jim's lap. "Catch up on classes if you want, watch the news, read a novel. I'm sure there are more entertaining things in the world, but for now, relax and stay out of trouble."

Jim found himself unable to keep from smiling at the way Bones bustled around, rattling off information and instructions like a grocery list. "Sure thing, Bones."

"Good. I'll stop by later tonight."

And with a wave and a smile, Bones was gone.

Jim stared at the door for a few minutes before sinking back against his pillows. With Bones around, it was easy to be distracted from his incessant itch to get the hell out of there. Part of him wanted to formulate an escape plan, but he knew that rationally, it wasn't the best of ideas. Stupid, actually. Okay, so maybe bordering on completely insane. He almost cringed at the mental image of himself trying to escape out the back door of Starfleet Medical, wearing the stupid patient tunic, with his ass showing to the whole world. Yeah, that image smacked of sheer insanity.

But really, he didn't see why another three days was necessary. He was feeling pretty good. Sure, his head felt weird and a bit foggy, like he was just outside of being able to think clearly, but that was probably due to being stuck in a damned bed for several days. He was just out of the loop. Needed to get back in the game as soon as possible.

With the course load he was taking, he was sure there was a stack of assignments and reading material piling up in his task queue. Despite the fact that he tried to make it look like he didn't work too hard, his big secret was that he actually studied his ass off. His bigger secret was that he liked it. And the only people who really knew that were Bones, Pike... and his flight team.

Damn it, his flight team.

His first-year squad for training sims had been fun to work with, but he hadn't gotten close with them. They'd studied together, practiced basic drills, and even gone drinking together when they'd taken the top honors in the field battle drills competition at the end of the year, but that was it. Buddies, but not real friends.

Flight training, he'd discovered, was different. He was one of only two second-year cadets on the squad, and Thaleb was specifically training to be a pilot. After some skepticism from Tambe, which had happily evolved into good-natured ribbing, he'd been taken into the squad like family. They worked on the shuttles together, learning every system. They'd done atmospheric maneuvers for the first month, had progressed to orbital maneuvers by the end of September, and now, mid-October, they had already advanced to doing trans-orbital flight. Ahead of schedule. They were good. Really good. And they were good together.

They'd decided to keep their squad together. They'd all take Advanced Shuttle Maneuvers in the spring, and begin training in single-pilot shuttles. Maybe they'd compete for the Rigel Cup. Despite the fact that Jim wasn't planning to become a pilot, he'd found he really loved it. Elite flight squads were normally for people in the pilot program, but as always, Jim liked being an exception to the rule. Nova Squadron wasn't an elite flight squad by design, but as a team, they'd decided they wanted to burn the name _Nova Squadron _into the Academy's history.

Now, they were one down. Flight teams were six cadets. And Jim didn't want to replace Tambe.

He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear that from his mind. There was nothing he could do about it now. He'd get back in a shuttle soon enough. For now, he needed to get back on target with his classwork. They'd told him his course load was too much to handle, but his record been perfect all semester. Same as last year. Now... he couldn't let anything slow him down.

He looked at the PADD in his lap and sighed.

On the other hand, he really just wanted to know what the hell was going on outside the damned hospital. The ICU hadn't been equipped with a holovid screen, but this room was. Assignments could wait another thirty minutes.

"Computer - activate holovid, access Federation News Network, stream two."

The holovid screen on the wall activated instantly. There were several major news streams, each one catering to a different focus. The FNN's secondary news stream was what Jim listened to most mornings while he cleaned up and got ready for the day. It was just a summarized loop of the most recent Federation and Terran global news blurbs. Nothing local. It always managed to get him thinking in terms of the bigger picture before heading to classes. _And here people think I only watch porn_, he thought with some amusement. There was certainly one great thing about not doing anything the normal way: he was never quite what people expected. He liked it that way. It had been even more fun when the class standings were announced at the end of last year. Oh yes, nobody had been expecting that.

"_... for the arrival of the Kasheeta Ambassador at the Interplanetary Cultural Center in Cairo. The festival is planned to be an open cultural exchange, spanning the first week of November._"

Jim took a slow breath and relaxed against his pillows. This was good and familiar.

"_Earth's Central Congress will be sending delegates to the trade conference at in the Ardana system. This delegation will be acting independently of Federation delegates, as certain Terran populations have unilateral interest in acquiring zenite for new Terran agricultural colonies. Federation representatives have taken an official hands-off stance in regards to this political faux-pas._"

Jim smirked to himself as the newscaster passed the screen off to an on-site reporter standing out in front of the Central Congress headquarters, who proceeded to ramble on about trade contracts and Terran/Federation government dynamics. Same shit, different day. Annoyingly reassuring. He reached over and grabbed the glass of juice Bones had left for him and took a slow sip, enjoying the privacy, and grateful that he'd at least convinced Bones to turn off the audio on the cardiac sensor. The beeping was really annoying. Aside from the holovid, it was actually quiet and oddly peaceful.

"_... but it appears they won't reach a consensus this year. Back to you, Audrey."_  
_  
"Thank you, Ye-jun. In other trade and business news, Starfleet officials will meet tomorrow with representatives from the research groups vying for propulsion systems contracts. The talks had been previously suspended due to the horrific shuttlecraft accident that has claimed the life of one cadet and left another cadet seriously injured."_

Jim blinked at the screen a couple of times before leaning his head back against the pillows and groaning. "You've _got_to be kidding me. Computer –"

The computer chirped its readiness for the command phrase, and Jim was just about to tell it to switch to another news feed, when he froze. No, if he was going to catch up on current events, that meant _all_ of them, even if was unpleasant. Even if it involved him. And for that matter, he should pay attention _especially _if it involved him.

"Computer, cancel."

Steeling himself, he leaned slightly forward and forced himself to pay attention.

"_The official statement from Academy officials is that an engine malfunction caused the crash –"_  
_  
_"Malfunction, my ass," Jim mumbled irritably.

_"– but the results of their investigation have not been released. Speculation has run rampant, and security has been significantly increased around Academy grounds."_

"Too little, too late, bastards."

"_In the meantime, we at the Federation News Network wish to extend our sympathies to the cadets and faculty of Starfleet Academy, and to the family of the cadet who was killed, as the memorial service will be held tonight."_  
_  
_"Thanks for your support," Jim said dryly to the empty room, but he felt his throat tighten up a bit.

_"And now, we bring you to Starfleet Command with field correspondent, Maria."_

The holovid switched to the familiar front of the main Starfleet Command admin building, and a petite woman standing on the terrace in front of the steps.

_"Thank you, Audrey,"_ she acknowledge the camera._ "Eight months ago, Starfleet Engineering leaders put out a call for new impulse engine designs, and the four remaining research groups had their designs selected as final candidates. Two Terran groups, a Vulcan team, and a Betelgeusian team are the finalists._ _With the prestige of designing the next generation of Starfleet impulse engines, the winning team will earn a research grant of fifty-thousand Federation credits, and a research placement within Starfleet._

"There has been almost complete silence from the research teams regarding the shuttlecraft accident, although a spokesperson from the Vulcan Science Academy released a statement today. Paraphrased, she stated that it is illogical to delay the progress of Starfleet's propulsion research and development, and that it would pay the greatest tribute to the individuals who had crashed to ensure that future cadets and members of Starfleet had the best possible technology available to them."

Logical though it was, Jim wondered if all Vulcans were so heartless, and hoped he would never have to work with one closely.

_"Analysts anticipate that the final propulsion tests and trials for the competing systems will take place at the end of this Terran year. We're hoping for comment from Starfleet Command within twenty-four hours regarding the progress of the new propulsion project._

"Back to you, Audrey."

The view of the Starfleet Command building disappeared, and holovid once again displayed the newsroom. Jim closed his eyes and sighed deeply, feeling an odd sense of deja-vu. Less than a year ago, he'd been sitting in a room in this same goddamned building, watching a newscast where the reporter had been talking about him, but not by name, and he'd almost been killed, and –

_Shit, why is it always me?_ The bleak thought embedded itself in his mind, spinning around as the reporter droned on, this time about some academic symposium on particle physics. He vaguely paid attention as they started talking about a new human colony being established on some damned planet in some damned sector. He listened a bit more closely as the news shifted to Federation security, and recent activity along the neutral zone. _Fucking Romulans._ And then, to Terran security issues, and..._  
_  
_"We have some breaking news. Terra Prime has issued a statement condemning the new trade alliance with Betazed, claiming that the presence of another race of telepaths on Earth poses a threat to Terrans. Federation and Terran security officials do not feel that Terra Prime is currently a threat, but the Betazoid-Terran talks have been moved to a new location._"_  
_  
"Not a threat?" Jim fumed aloud. They'd be stupid enough to dismiss Terra Prime? After everything else those bastards had done? Jim felt a pang of sympathy for the Betazoid delegates, and hoped they would manage to avoid any entanglements. He'd met a couple of Betazoids once. Nice people. Really nice people. But if Terra Prime had it out for someone, the threat was real. He was sure of that.

Maybe the terrorists were even trying to derail the impulse engine research teams, too. Anything that helped humans explore further into the galaxy, anything that brought more non-humans to Earth... it was all a target for them. Maybe they'd broken into Academy grounds to get information about Starfleet's engine capabilities with the pending engineering competition. Maybe someone had somehow managed to recognize him in the hangar. Maybe that's how –

"Kirk?"

Jim almost sent his PADD flying off the bed, he startled so hard. If nothing else, he turned towards the door so fast that he wrenched his neck, sending a flash of pain through his head. Eyes watering, he blinked a few times, and finally recognized Cadet Okoru, standing in the door. Behind her stood Thaleb, d'Eon, and Freeman.

Okoru took a tentative step into the room, almost looking like she'd seen a ghost. "If now is a bad time, we can come back."

Jim forced the thoughts of Terra Prime to the back of his mind, and actually found himself grateful for the sight of his team. Eyes still watering, but now from a bit of emotion, Jim brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and gave them what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "It's okay, Okoru. You just surprised me." He looked back at the holovid screen. "Computer – turn off the holovid." With the screen dark and silent, Jim inclined his head, inviting the team into the room. "Come on in, guys. It's good to see you."

The four of them filed into the room, which suddenly seemed much smaller, especially with Thaleb, who was shockingly tall, even for an Andorian. He stepped to the forefront, and gave an abbreviated but solemn bow. "Kirk, it is good that you are recovering. We know that this was not an accident, and we are prepared to assist you in avenging this disgraceful and cowardly act of malice against you and Tambe."

Jim couldn't help but smile a bit, but d'Eon batted Thaleb's arm lightly, chastising. "Give him a minute before you start plotting revenge, Thaleb!" She turned back to Jim, and then hesitated, before she finally spoke. "How are you feeling, Kirk?"

"I'm fine, really." He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look. "They've been taking good care of me, and I'll be out of here, soon. And I can't wait – the food here is terrible. Anyone care to smuggle me in a pizza?"

That earned him a little bit of a laugh, and the nervous edge in the room seemed to dull a bit. Okoru gave a smile that only seemed slightly forced and leaned on the arm of the chair, making her seem comically short compared to Thaleb. "Actually, your doctor friend, McCoy, warned us that if anyone smuggled you food before your doctors cleared it, he'd conduct our yearly physicals himself. I don't think he meant it as a favor."

"The doctor is an honorable and loyal friend, and a deceptively fierce man," Thaleb said solemnly.

"And a sadist who won't let me have a pizza," Jim grumbled, then shrugged, noting with pleasure that it didn't hurt too much to move his shoulder today. "So, how have you guys been? What's been going on out there?"

The squad exchanged nervous looks. Finally, Okoru spoke up. "It's been weird, Kirk. I mean, we've been worried sick about you. McCoy told us that you were doing well, but that we couldn't see you because you were in ICU, so we didn't know what to think."

"They worry too much. I was fine. But what else?"

She glanced up at Thaleb before continuing. "Well, the hangar was put on security lockdown. We haven't been in there since. All shuttle and flight training on the campus has been suspended until further notice. Random cadets have been pulled out of classes, and we think people are being interrogated. But nobody's saying much."

The feeling was uneasy and undefinable, and it settled into Jim's chest, making him feel like something in the room was pressing him back. "Have they called any of you in for questioning? About what you saw?"

"We all submitted our reports," Freeman said, speaking up for the first time. "They demanded the reports immediately. Wouldn't even let us talk to each other first." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then folded his arms across his chest as he shook his head. "But no, none of us has been questioned in person."

"And they haven't told us a damned thing," d'Eon added. "Kirk... what do _you _think is going on? What did you see?"

Jim sucked in a sharp breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. Didn't want to hash it over again. But for his squadmates – the only other people on campus who really deserved to hear this – he could. Leaning forward, he looked across all their faces, all as serious as he felt. "Okay, but this is between us."

.&.


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTES:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I actually had to go in for knee surgery two days ago, and it's just been a crazy week as a result. (They were fixing the injury that ended my Army career. Everything went well. it just sucks that I'll be in an immobilizer for the next month. Don't worry - I deal with stuff like this better than my characters.) Anyway, I'll try to post one today and another one on Sunday. I promise, the rest of the story is coming in a timely manner. I hope you're enjoying it so far! Let me know if you like it. Thanks, and have fun reading!

*.&.*

Jim gave his team as much information as he could remember, and every one of them was able to supply their own memories of what had happened. It was highly disturbing, and Jim kept catching himself dissociating from what he was saying, as if he was talking about someone else, like a holovid he'd seen, not his own flesh-and-blood experience. It made it easier to analyze, he figured.

Throughout the discussion, Okoru maintained an admirably stoic demeanor. She was a third-year Engineering cadet who had just wanted to add level two flight certification to her resume, and had accepted the duty of Assistant Squad Leader because she figured it would never be necessary to take over. Now, she was in charge of a squad that was reeling from a disaster, and she was holding it together.

Freeman seemed anxious, voicing his suspicions and displeasure that the administration wasn't telling them anything. d'Eon asked a lot of questions; it seemed whenever she tried to say something herself, she had to bite back tears. And Thaleb continued to demonstrate his unshakable determination to bring justice to whoever had sabotaged the shuttle.

And they were all there, holding it together like a piece of fabric that had just lost a vital thread. Jim found himself grateful for the visit, even though he would have far preferred that nobody see him stuck in a hospital bed. It was unnerving.

Finally, after they'd hashed the shuttle mission details to bits, the conversation lapsed into classes, the continuation of their flight training, campus activities, and random chatter. The distraction was wonderful, and they were only interrupted once by a nurse who came to place osteo-stim units on the sites of his worst broken bones. Jim laughed it off as becoming a bionic man, with an archaic reference to having the technology – "W_e can rebuild him... faster, stronger... oh, never mind._" He wondered if he was the only guy on campus who liked old books and films.

As the afternoon began to wear out, Okoru finally stood up with an air of leadership, signaling an end to the visit. "I'm sorry to cut out on you, Kirk... but we all need to get going."

Jim gave her his most grateful smile. "Don't apologize – who'd want to stick around one of these places for very long anyway? Hospitals run the fine balance between saving your life and killing you with sheer boredom."

She smiled back, but shook her head. "It's not that." She hesitated for a breath. "Tambe's memorial service is tonight. It starts about an hour after sunset. Candlelight vigil. I need to make sure we all eat before the service, so if we were going to go to the mess hall before it closes, we need to leave now."

Jim felt his mouth fall open in dismay. He was going to miss Tambe's service. He shook his head. "I should be there."

"Kirk," Thaleb interjected, "Cadet Tambe would know that your memory of her is strong and that you are deeply loyal. There is no dishonor in missing the memorial when your intent is good. You must allow yourself to heal properly."

Jim shook his head. _I've gotta love the guy, but he doesn't always understand humans_. "It's not about dishonor, Thaleb. It's just that I _want _to be there."

"We know, Kirk," d'Eon said. "But we all want you back in one piece, so you rest up."

"Do you want us to say anything at the service... from you?" Freeman asked.

Jim opened his mouth to speak, and realized that for once, he didn't have any easy words. He chewed his lip for a moment, then sighed. "I'd need to say it myself," he finally said. "But... light a candle for me, okay?"

There were four nods of agreement, and after heartfelt goodbyes and well-wishes, Jim found himself in the empty room again.

In the silence, he pulled out his PADD and began absently reading course assignments, not really absorbing any of the material. Just something to fill time until... whatever came next. Didn't seem to matter - he had no say in what would happen. What they'd do to him. When he'd get to leave. He just had to sit there and take it as it came.

After a few minutes, a doctor came in and checked his progress from the osteo-stim treatment and removed the devices. A nurse came after that and helped him out of bed to use the bathroom – _thank goodness for progress, _he thought cynically, but he thanked her for the assistance. It was easier than being contrary, and at least he was going to get to sleep without the hip immobilizer that night. But really, he had other things on his mind.

He grabbed his PADD again and switched from homework assignments to his own research – Terra Prime's tactics. _Know thine enemy._It wasn't much, but it made him feel a little bit less helpless, even though he knew what he really needed to do was get back to the shuttle hangar and look for clues. But unable to do that, at least he could research Terra Prime.

He reviewed Terra Prime's long and brutal history. He cross-referenced reliable reports on their activity by location and incident type. He hunted for patterns. And he got nowhere. He needed one of the computer study rooms at the library. With their enormous screens and advanced data matrix processors, those computers could help him find data patterns in an hour that would take him months on his PADD. Incredible research tools. Too bad those were in the library, and he was stuck on his fucking biobed.

Finally, he put the PADD down.

In the silence of his room, he watched the fog outside the window turn from gray to dark gray, and he knew it would be time for the memorial soon.

He thought of Tambe, and the hundreds of cadets and faculty who would fill the main quad on the Academy grounds, while those who knew Tambe best would tell stories about her. There would be candles and tears, and it would bring closure.

Jim needed some damned closure.

He looked out the window, and tried to see lights from across the bay through the fog. Wished there was some way he could go out, just for the evening, but the mental image he'd had earlier of himself sneaking out in the flimsy hospital gown made him feel like a psych-ward patient who was trying to break out of a padded cell. As crazy as he'd felt lately, trapped and cornered, that wasn't the image he needed.

But it was how he _felt_. He couldn't leave. His team, his _friends_, were out there mourning for Tambe, and he was stuck here. Tambe's killer was out there, and he was useless, sitting in a damned hospital room. Unless a nurse came and un-tethered him from the IV, he was basically tied to the biobed. It was like a goddamned leash. An uneasy jolt twisted his stomach as he wondered, not for the first time, what they were actually giving him through that thing. Pain meds? Osteo-whatevers? Nutrients and supplements and _who the fuck cares_.

Frustration welled up, and he could feel himself shaking with pent up anger, distress, loss, and a need for vengeance that he couldn't do anything about while he was trapped at Starfleet Medical. He swore, if he wasn't wearing the damned hospital gown, he'd...

And then Jim remembered the duffel Bones had brought him. His PADD, some books, and... "My clothes," he whispered to himself.

An odd, giddy feeling crept up and overtook him. He _could _get out of there... sneak out and sneak back before anyone knew he was gone. He wasn't due for any more treatments for the evening. The biobed sensors... hell, he could hack anything, right? He just needed to be there for Tambe's memorial.

"Computer – activate internal room window privacy filter."

The window went opaque, and the giddiness heightened as he grabbed the medical tricorder that the nurse had left on the table and scanned himself. He cross-transmitted the data to his PADD, modified it, and set it on a repeating loop until he had enough data for over three hours of pre-recorded Kirk-vital-signs. Then, he turned around towards the biobed computer and tapped in the access code he'd seen Bones use for everything. The guy had no creativity – same password every time. A moment later, he'd uploaded his code loop into the biobed computer and activated it.

He held his breath. Literally. Held it as long as he could as he tested his pulse. His own pulse began to speed up. The cardiac pattern displayed on the biobed readout, however, displayed a slow, steady beat.

Jim grinned.

Next step... get rid of the damned IV. Bones had said he'd rip his vein, but it didn't seem like it would be nearly that risky or difficult. It should just slide right out. He pulled off the adhesive, braced himself, and gave it a tug.

A burning pain seared through his hand, and Jim slapped his other hand down on the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to keep from crying out. _FUCK. Okay, that was clearly the wrong way to do it_. When he looked at his hands, there was blood seeping around his fingers. "Shit," he whispered, looking around frantically. There was a cabinet on the wall. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand and the ache in his hips, he slid off the bed and hobbled over to the cabinet. It contained basic medical supplies - some loaded and neatly organized hypospray vials, dermagel tubes, a few devices that Jim figured were basic regen tools, and one lonely roll of gauze.

_One of the fortunate things of escaping from a hospital_, he thought with cynical amusement, _is that they've got medical supplies handy for when you fuck it up._

A moment later, with his hand wrapped, he'd managed to get out of his hospital gown. This was the most he'd moved his own limbs and joints since the shuttle crash, and he felt horribly stiff. His hips ached a bit, but it wasn't so bad. Not bad at all, really. Same thing with his ribs. Just a bit of an ache. There was no reason in the world why he had to miss the memorial.

_Sometimes, it's better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission._ He was sure a wise man had once told him that, but at the moment, he couldn't recall who it was. Didn't matter. The advice still applied._  
_  
Grinning, he pulled on a pair of jeans, determinedly _not_ wincing as he lifted each leg to step into them. He added a t-shirt, then the sweatshirt Bones had packed, which he found himself grateful to discover was the only zip-up sweatshirt he owned. _Thanks, Bones_, he thought.

Finally, he pulled on his regular shoes, and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt almost human again. Sore, but like himself. He needed this. "Okay, Kirk," he said to his reflection. "Three hours."

He pocketed his comm unit, left the PADD on the bed, and went to the door of the room. He wasn't moving as smoothly as he'd hoped, but it was late on a Sunday. Most people were tired by then, weren't they?

Cautiously, he activated the door, then peeked around the corner into the hallway. The nurse at the central desk had her back to his door, and was watching the patient monitor screen in front of her. All automated. Nobody was watching him directly. The place looked practically abandoned. This would be easy. He just needed to play it smooth.

As if he were merely leaving his dorm room, he walked out into the hall, found the turbolift, and when the doors opened, he stepped inside. Nobody had seen him. "Lobby," he said firmly, after the doors had shut. The 'lift started moving, and Jim felt a rush at the knowledge that this was going to work. It was a bit like the feeling he got sneaking out of the house when he was in his younger teens. He felt oddly young, and it was quite exhilarating. He also felt a sharp twinge through his hips, but by the time the turbolift doors opened, depositing him in the lobby, his excitement was enough to help him ignore the ache.

The exit doors were a straight shot from the turbolift. A single security guard stood at the entrance, but Jim didn't know the guy, and probably wouldn't be recognized by sight. Besides, security guards were always far more concerned about people arriving than people leaving.

Jim glanced down at himself to make sure nothing was out of place or suspicious, and noticed with a start that a splotch of red was seeping through the gauze on his hand. It was then that he realized that his hand was really aching. _Okay, so Bones was definitely right about pulling that thing out_, he thought, but that was a minor problem, easily ignored. It should stop bleeding very soon. He'd been through worse. He tucked his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and began making his way across the lobby.

His hips were really starting to ache now, but he figured once he'd gone some distance, the stiffness would work itself out. And really, he could call a taxi from his comm unit once he got to the edge of the Starfleet Medical campus, as he'd done many times after visiting Bones during his late shifts. Simple.

Jim smiled casually at the security guard, who seemed quite bored with the whole thing and merely nodded in response. _Too easy_. The doors opened in front of him, and the chill of the evening wind off the ocean met him with a refreshing gust to the face. It felt wonderful. Like a taste of freedom. He grinned to himself, then looked down.

Stairs.

Starfleet Medical's front terrace was a broad staircase. In the back of his mind, he knew there was a ramp somewhere, but really, if he couldn't handle stairs, then what sort of wimp was he? Taking his hands out of his pockets, he leaned lightly on the rail and began making his way down.

The ache in his hips slowly began to burn. Instead of helping the joints to loosen up, each step seemed to stab a bit deeper through his pelvis. He tried to breathe through it, but his ribs started to ache. He scowled at himself – this shouldn't be so difficult. Tambe had _died_. He could certainly put up with a little bit of pain to make it to her memorial. It was almost like a tribute.

By the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was panting from exertion and cringing from the ache. It wasn't so far to go, though. If he could make it across the grounds, he could call for that taxi, and then he could relax all the way back to campus.

He started to walk across the quad when a sudden flash of pain ripped through his hips, and he doubled over at the shock of it. The movement sent a sharp stabbing sensation through his ribs, and he clutched one arm across his chest as he desperately tried to steady himself, bracing his other hand against his knee. A bit of blood ran down from his bandaged hand and stained his jeans, and he glared at his hand irritably. He liked these jeans.

_It'll be dark at the memorial_, he told himself. _They'll have the street lamps turned off so the candles will show better. Nobody will see the stain._

And he had to get there.

It was one singular thought to latch onto in a world spinning beyond his control. Distantly, he knew he wasn't thinking clearly - maybe because of the pain, or maybe because of something else he couldn't quite understand – but it didn't matter. All he could think was that Tambe had died, his team was going to be at the memorial service, and he needed to be there, too. The whole fucking campus would be there, and he'd be damned if he was going to be left out. He'd be damned if he'd let them stop him.

Growling and grunting with determination, he managed to push himself upright. The world teetered around him a little bit, and he stood and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly for a moment to get his bearing. He was almost halfway to the gate.

Unsteadily, one foot in front of the other, Jim worked his way across the quad towards the road that ran by the front campus gate for Starfleet Medical. The pain was getting worse, though, escalating by the moment, and Jim started to wonder if maybe Bones had also been right about needing the painkillers. He hadn't thought it could be so bad without them. But he'd only removed the IV maybe a half-hour ago, hadn't he? Less than that, even. Had he injured himself again? Or were the drugs so short-acting? He wasn't sure - time seemed immaterial.

It was all immaterial. Time, pain, rules, security – none of it mattered.

Pain was nothing. And maybe he deserved it. He _should _have figured out what was wrong with the shuttlecraft. Even if it had been sabotage, he should have been good enough to catch the problem and fix it. Instead, he'd let it go, and Tambe had died. Really, at the end of the day, it was his fault. He should have been better. _Could _have been better. Should have been able to handle whatever came at him, no matter how bad it was.

His father had saved eight-hundred people. Pike had dared him to do better. And in answer to that, he'd failed to save even one.

The emotional ache ripped through his gut with a sob, which sent a white-hot lance of pain through his hips, echoed by a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest. He stumbled, and reached out a couple more steps to one of the lampposts and grabbed onto it to keep himself from falling over. It was the bandaged hand that he'd wrapped around the post, and in the lamplight, he could see the blood oozing through the gauze now. _Well, that's not good_, he thought vaguely, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter, because nothing seemed clear anymore.

In fact, his head was swimming, and now, the gate to the grounds of Starfleet Medical seemed impossibly far away. He stared at across the quad at the gate and knew he'd never make it. Through the pain, one realization finally cracked through and overtook his thoughts like the gavel of his own judgment: _I'm a fucking idiot._  
_  
_This was stupid. Bones had been right. He had the patience of a child, and he'd been so sure he was just fine. Refused to listen to the doctors. And now he was standing on the grounds of Starfleet Medical, bleeding from an injury that he'd caused himself, barely able to walk, surrounded by fog and darkness.

He couldn't imagine how stupid he looked. Wondered why on earth he'd thought it was a good idea in the first place. And knew he had to get back to the hospital building. Now.

His hips burned and throbbed as he forced himself to stand upright again. His lungs were screaming for air, and he couldn't breathe fast enough, like he was suffocating in the pain. He could make it back, though. He had to make it back.

He stumbled forward, and each footfall sent a lance of fire through his hips, straight up his spine. The fog was thick around him, or maybe his vision was blurring, and he knew it was bad. Really bad.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what Bones would think. How he'd scold him, yell at him, and dammit, Bones would be right. Absolutely right. Bones had tried to watch out for him, tried to take care of him, and this was the thanks he gave: he'd gone and fucked it all up.

A sob of guilt shook him, mixing in with his desperate gasps for air. The gate had seemed so far away, but now the main medical building seemed further. He vaguely thought he should pull out his comm unit and call for help, but he could see the medical building right there. He got himself out of his own room, caused his own idiotic situation, and he had to fix it himself.

But he couldn't fix it himself. The fog was getting darker around him, and each step was getting harder, and he wasn't going to make it. He almost thought he heard a voice yelling – _security guard finally caught me –_ but he couldn't spare a thought for it. His head was pounding, and his legs weren't going to hold him anymore.

Pain ripped through him as he slumped to the ground. There were footsteps approaching, and he knew he was in trouble, but he couldn't care anymore. It was all too far away.

*.&.*

Leonard got out of the taxi at the gate of the Starfleet Medical campus and thanked the driver as he hoisted the bag of Chinese takeout onto his hip. He swiped his ID to pay the fare, then turned and hurried through the gate.

It had been a long day.

His tutoring appointment with Lieutenant Scott had been frustrating. Apparently, the people running the investigation didn't want information being shared openly between different research projects, citing security risks, so progress had been exceedingly slow. Scott had also tried to present his evidence of the excess four kilograms to the Admiral, who had reviewed his work and completely rejected it with no explanation. Lieutenant Scott was livid over it, but it made no difference. If he wanted to stay on the investigation, he couldn't piss off the Admiral. So he'd gone back to the engineering lab with nothing to show, no leads, and not enough raw data to learn anything new.

With that disappointent, they'd spent their hour reviewing material for the Basic Engineering class that Leonard had all but ignored lately, and planned to meet at their usual time the following Sunday. From there, Leonard had gone to the Cellular Biology lab and transferred his epithelial cell cultures, then caught a shower and a nap at his dorm room. Finally, he'd taken a trip into Chinatown to pick up some lo mein and dim sum from Jim's favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

Leonard smiled at the memory of their first foray into Chinatown for one of Jim's lo mein cravings. Jim had zoned in on the little place, insisting that it looked just right, despite Leonard's misgivings about sanitation codes. But Jim had been persistent, and had dragged him into the restaurant by the arm. He'd placed their order in perfect Mandarin Chinese, praised the food (which had been surprisingly good), and the owners had loved him ever since.

But that's just how Jim was.

Jim could go down and order his own Chinese food directly in a couple of weeks, if he kept progressing as expected. But for now, it would have to be enough for Leonard to provide personal delivery service. Sure, Chinese food probably wasn't the best choice for a start back, but he'd asked the cook to go easy on the oil and soy sauce, so it should be fine. Jim was probably going to find himself full before he expected it, but he'd get his appetite back soon enough. He was progressing so rapidly, it was unbelievable.

Really, Leonard had expected some sort of setback. Sure, once Jim's bleeding had been stopped and his broken bones had been set and fused, the general injuries were no longer the major concern. They could hurt like hell, especially the pelvic fractures, but they'd heal smoothly with time and treatment. They were already healing very well, all things considered. It was the progress with the head injury that amazed and boggled Leonard. In his experience with trauma patients, head injuries like _that _didn't just go away. There was always something. Memory lapses, new patterns of headaches, altered personalities, cognitive setbacks, depression...

_Or paranoia_, Leonard thought morosely. _  
_  
But Jim _did_ have a fair reason to be a bit paranoid. It was quite possible – _probable –_ that someone had tried to kill him. But other than the displays of fear and vulnerability, which had subsided more and more as Jim had improved, he'd shown no other signs of mental instability. He was lucid, articulate, and was even joking like his old self.

And Leonard promised himself that he'd try to switch Jim from the IV to pills for his pain, now that he'd be back on solid foods. That way, at least the kid would stop hassling him about it.

Leonard smiled to himself as he made his way across the foggy grounds of the medical complex. Just a few days ago, he'd thought Jim was going to die under his hands. Now, everything was looking so good. Granted, there was the other half of the tragedy to consider – the rest of the campus was mourning Tambe at that moment. Leonard had left a bundle of flowers at the memorial site earlier. But for now, he needed to see Jim – the one guy on campus who probably wanted to be at that memorial service more than anyone, but instead was stuck in a hospital room alone.

Leonard shifted the bag of takeout higher in his arms; he'd really ordered way too much food. It was okay – leftover Chinese food made a craving-worthy Monday-morning breakfast.

The quad was eerie at night, and he always walked across the grounds a little bit faster when he had a night shift there. There was fog in Georgia, but not the way San Francisco had fog. It concealed things. And sure, the Medical campus had a security staff, but it was a hospital campus, and was technically open to anyone.

Like some drunk guy who must have been on a weekend bender, and was staggering across the quad towards the main hospital building.

Leonard let out a frustrated breath, and thanked the fates that he wasn't on duty tonight. He'd had more than his fair share of drunks show up at the ER. Some had actually managed to injure themselves during their drunken antics, but most were just on one side of alcohol poisoning or the other.

The guy stumbled, and Leonard thought he heard a faint grunt of pain. That didn't sound quite right for a drunk. And the staggering motions didn't just look intoxicated - they were the motions of someone who was in severe discomfort. Even if the man was drunk, he was likely also injured. Leonard frowned and started walking a little bit faster towards the guy.

"Hey! Hey, are you okay over there?"

The man didn't respond. In fact, he made it about two more steps before his legs buckled under him and he crumpled forward to the ground.

Leonard dropped the sack of takeout and kicked into a dead sprint down the walkway. The man was facedown on the ground under one of the street lamps, and as Leonard got close he could make out the Starfleet Academy sweatshirt. The guy's hand was bandaged, and blood had already seeped through the poorly-wrapped gauze. He had dirty blond hair... suddenly so familiar, even in the poor light of the streetlamp. Leonard skidded the last few steps and dropped down to his knees, and was then able to make out the small shaved spot on the back of the man's head. His gut froze.

"Jim!" Stifling his panic, he forced himself not to grab the kid's shoulders and just roll him right over. He pressed his fingers against Jim's neck, feeling a pulse that was too fast and too shallow, just like the way Jim's chest heaved with his breathing. "Can you hear me? Talk to me, Jim!"

There was a faint moan, then, "Bones?" Jim made a move to turn over, but Leonard lightly pressed a hand down on his back.

"Don't move, kid. I'm going to call a stretcher." He began rubbing gentle circles on Jim's shoulder as he yanked out his comm and called a transport team out to the quad. He was grateful that they didn't ask questions, and he flipped his comm shut and looked back down at Jim.

Through the frantic worry and anguished concern, a dozen furious thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to rip the kid up one side and down the other for his sheer stupidity. Demand to know what the _hell_ he'd been thinking and why the _fuck _he was anywhere but on the goddamned biobed where Leonard had left him. Rant off a litany of curses and enumerate the reasons why Jim was an infantile and irresponsible idiot who must be begging for the world to kick him while he was down.

But he couldn't. Something had to have happened to have caused him to do this. There had to be a reason. And right now, with Jim obviously unstable and in severe pain, was _not _the time to drill the kid with a lecture.

Carefully, cradling Jim's cheeks with cupped hands, he turned Jim's head to the side so that his face wasn't pressed into the dirt, in hopes it would help him to breathe easier. He was both relieved and concerned that Jim didn't resist the movement at all. Then he stretched himself out on the ground, parallel to Jim's body, so he could look at Jim's face directly.

Bleary eyes gazed back at him narrowly through the shadows. The kid had a smear of dirt on his cheek, but didn't appear to have obvious any new injuries. There was a good chance that his pelvic fractures had become unstable, so he'd have to be reassessed for that. It occurred to Leonard that Jim's hand was bleeding because he'd ripped out the IV, and the anticoagulants he was on to prevent clots while he healed had allowed the hole to keep bleeding unchecked. Feeling something twisting tightly in his own chest, he reached over and covered Jim's hand with his own, bloody gauze and all. Forcing his voice to stay level, he asked, "Why'd you do it, Jim?"

"I..." The word was raspy, drenched in pain. Jim blinked a couple of times, and even in the shadows, it was clear that he was teetering on the edge of consciousness. He licked his lips. "I was trapped, Bones. Trapped... like a cage. A leash." He weakly moved his hand under Leonard's. "Couldn't take it anymore."

"Just in one afternoon? Come on, kid... what happened?"

Jim's eyes closed and he ground the side of his face into the dirt and grass, groaning slightly.

"Talk to me, Jim."

Slowly, Jim's eyes cracked open again. "My team... Bones. They need... there are jus' five of us. Just five. Flight teams are six. Need six of us, Bones. They left without me." His words were peppered with gasps for air, croaks and grunts of pain.

Gritting his teeth against his own need to look away from his best friend's anguish, Leonard kept his eyes locked steadily to Jim's. "Did you follow them, Jim?"

"Yes. I... I needed... to get out... see Tambe's memorial."

Leonard bit down on his own tongue. He was glad he'd stifled his urge to give Jim a piece of his mind. He couldn't yell at Jim. Not for this, not right now. This wasn't really Jim's fault, and Leonard realized that his hope for Jim to avoid neurological complications was premature. _Paranoia. Irrational behavior._For all that he'd thought everything was fine, it seemed that Jim's recovery wouldn't be as short as he'd hoped. "Oh, Jim," he said, watching Jim's eyelids flicker weakly.

"So sorry... Bones. You... y'were right. I... was an idiot."

A tight, watery sob tried to work its way through Leonard's throat, but he swallowed it back. "You're always an idiot, Jim, but you're my idiot. It's okay, kid. Try to relax. You don't have to apologize. Just breathe, and help will be here in a minute."

Jim groaned, gave a weak nod, and shut his eyes.

Leonard wasn't sure if he was going to remain fully conscious or not, but if he passed out from the pain, it might be a blessing. However, given the occasional pained moan, the tight clench of his jaw, and the way his eyes were pinched shut, Leonard knew the kid was still awake and suffering silently. Knowing Jim, he'd stay conscious until they sedated him again.

With a choked sigh, Leonard maneuvered himself around and sat upright, and began rubbing Jim's back again. He kept looking back and forth between the doors of Starfleet Medical and Jim... watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed.

There was a burst of activity from the building - the transport team was coming - but for just that moment, the fog muffled everything. Leonard was sitting there next to Jim's prone body, in the silence, surrounded by darkness. He'd never felt more alone.

*.&.*

They put Jim on constant watch.

His escape act had caused his pelvic fractures to open up again, which landed him back in emergency surgery to repair the damage. Leonard had held back, knowing that it wasn't his place to treat Jim, not this time, but he stayed in the room as they prepped him for surgery. Held his hand while the nurse started a new IV. Told him what the scans showed, and explained what needed to be done. Jim didn't complain once. Not even when they sliced his clothes off. Not a peep the whole time, neither in embarrassment or protest. He just nodded resignedly when Leonard said they were going to start the sedatives. Drifted off to sleep with a faint, "_I'm sorry, Bones_."

Leonard knew he was. With heart-wrenching certainty, he knew.

And he sat there and watched numbly as the nurses came in and wheeled out the gurney. Made his way to the doctor's lounge where he waited and drank too much coffee until Jim was out of surgery. He stayed just long enough to check in on the kid, confirmed that the procedure had been successful and that Jim was sleeping peacefully, and went back to his dorm room. He bypassed his secret supply of bourbon and went straight for his own small stash of sedatives and slept through his first two classes. Got excused from his afternoon clinic duty.

The lead doctor on Jim's case gave him a three solid days of bed rest, and four days of inpatient physical therapy before they'd release him, to ensure that he didn't overstress himself again. A fracture was delicate enough; re-breaking it was worse. Jim took to the treatment with surprising cooperation, and even an attempt at false cheer. It was a good enough act to convince most people, but Leonard wasn't most people.

Jim was miserable, but it was clear that he'd forced himself to accept his situation. Even with the constant surveillance, which seemed to cause as much frustration for Jim as it did embarrassment, he grit his teeth and bore it with almost no outward resistance. He didn't say it straight out, but Leonard knew. Jim felt like he was being babysat, and even more upsetting for him was the fact that he knew he deserved it. Needed it, really. His acceptance of everything was tenuous and pained, restless and edgy, and Leonard thought it was a bit like a convict on death row in the distant past.

Leonard stopped by every day, sometimes helping Jim with his PT exercises. Jim's flight squad came and visited him throughout the week, and Leonard was glad to see that Jim didn't try to shy away from the visits. Pike came around, too. Even Jim's roommate, who had always been pleasant but never terribly social, stopped by to see if he needed anything. Nobody was allowed to question or interrogate Jim before he was released, for fear that he'd balk again. Aside from a few nervous mentions of Terra Prime, and just when Leonard was the only person in the room, he did pretty well.

Progress was slower this time, but it was steady. Yes, Jim was under constant watch, but somehow, Leonard knew he was unlikely to try to leave again until his official discharge. He'd probably emerge a more sober and solemn Jim Kirk, but maybe that wasn't the end of the world. Maybe it was a lesson he'd needed to learn, although Leonard would have given anything for him to learn it another way. But at least he was going to succeed this time.

In the meantime, whenever he wasn't in a class or visiting Jim, Leonard tried to find any new information about the crash, the saboteurs, the shuttle engines... anything. And he was failing miserably.

*.&.*


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES:** Sorry about the delay. I've been in a bit more pain post-surgery than anticipated, and I've been struggling to keep up with real-life responsibilities. I'm taking today off from work because I'm just that exhausted and sore, which is giving me time to post. I'll try to keep the chapters coming fairly regularly, but I can't promise exact days for posting. Still, I do promise that the whole thing will be posted in a timely manner, and you won't have to wait more than a few days for each chapter.

Anyway, the story is digging into the mystery now, so this is where things really start to get interesting. I hope you enjoy it!

*.&.*

_It could have been a lot worse_, Jim reasoned to himself as he opened his eyes and looked around the room he'd been stuck in for the past week. It was Sunday morning, and they were releasing him.

If, by all rights, he shouldn't be alive, then a week and a half in a hospital wasn't the worst thing in the world. Really, he'd spent a lot of time reading and studying, and trying to get ahead in the theoretical portions of his classes. He was already going to be behind in the practicals when he went back to class tomorrow, and would be restricted to limited duty for a while longer, so he needed every advantage he could get. Being stuck in bed certainly helped eliminate distractions when it came time to focus on classwork, but it also gave him too much time to think. Far too much time to think.

And far too much time to loathe the simple fact that he was there in the first place. It was hard not to resent the doctors and nurses who were _only trying to help you, for God's sake, Jim._ Jim chuckled humorlessly at the memory of Bones' voice, chastising him when he'd started to complain... so he'd stopped complaining. And fuck it all, the worst part was just having to lie there and _take it_. Accepting help... it was uncomfortable and awkward, and even after a week of relying on people – mostly complete strangers, aside from Bones – it still felt like he'd been wearing someone else's personality just to keep himself sane. And really, he _was _grateful for the help. That didn't make him feel any more comfortable with it.

Giving a smile he wasn't feeling to the empty room, he sighed and rolled gently off the biobed.

At least it was almost over. The simple freedom of being allowed to walk to the bathroom himself, which they'd only granted him on Friday night, still seemed like a big deal. Wearing real pajamas seemed like a big deal, too. And the shower he'd gotten to take yesterday, with real water (after all the sonic showers they'd wheeled him through) had been a small piece of heaven. It was great, until he remembered that he _had _been able to take those things for granted only two weeks ago.

_You're alive, you asshole,_ he thought angrily at himself. _That's more than you could say about most people if they'd been through a crash like that. Tambe didn't make it. Grow up and be grateful that you're still alive. That you can walk to the fucking bathroom._

The thought didn't help much, but it took the edge off his self-indulgent bitterness.

He finished relieving himself and walked out of the bathroom to find the room no longer empty. "You're here early, Bones," he said lightly, not really surprised. He'd gotten used to Bones showing up unannounced. Not that they had many boundaries to begin with, but most of what had remained had mysteriously disappeared over the past week. Oddly, that was one of the few things that Jim hadn't really minded. Had come to expect it, and even appreciate its strange but comfortable familiarity. It was _something _familiar in a world that so incomprehensible and out of his control.

Bones was sprawled in the guest chair, giving him a look of clinical approval as he took a sip from his ever-present coffee canteen. "Well, we're springing you out of here today," he said easily. "I figured you'd want to leave as soon as possible."

"Oh, come on now, Bones - you know I love it here. It's like a vacation... only not." He walked around the bed to where his duffel was sitting on the table. "Nothing better than being poked and prodded for a week. And the food in this place is five-star." He gave a resigned look to let Bones know he wasn't really protesting. Just whining a little bit... just because he could. And because he knew it would get some sort of amusing retort from his friend.

On cue, Bones snorted. "I've smuggled you lo mein, pizza, and even cannelloni from Luigi's Bistro. I don't want to hear a damned thing about food. You've eaten better in the past four days than I have in months."

"Well, I had to make up for a week of not eating anything." He flashed something that felt more like a real smile. Bones grumbling and being sarcastic was familiar and comfortable.

"Kid, the way you eat, you're going to end up wearing a girdle so you can fit into your dress uniform by the time you make Captain."

"Thanks, Bones," he sald flatly, then dropped the sarcasm in favor of sincerity. "But still, I'm still grateful for the extra rations." He pulled his jeans out of the duffel and looked at them wistfully. The last pair he'd worn had been sliced to ribbons by the nurses. And here he'd always dreamed of women slicing his clothes off... just under better circumstances. At least this pair of jeans wouldn't meet that same fate. "Thanks for bringing me some more clothes, too."

"You're welcome." Bones sipped his coffee again. "You know, your roommate should be the guy bringing your stuff to you. Technically, that's policy for cadets here."

"Yeah, but I've spent more time on your couch than in my own dorm room with him anyway. I barely know the guy. We hardly talk, unless I'm asking him engineering questions – and then the guy could talk your ear off. He's kinda obsessed with that stuff. Always in the engineering labs, and when he's in the dorm room, he's studying or tinkering with some electronic shit." He chuckled, grabbing the first t-shirt his fingers found in his bag. "With a name like Sven Hagenbuch, the guy either needed to be a porn star or a nerd."

"Don't be so damned judgmental," Bones said flatly. "Especially seeing as you study more than anyone else I know, and you've been hiding that fact from the rest of the damned world."

"You've caught me there, Bones. But if I don't study hard, how can I make it look easy?" He grinned and started unbuttoning his pajama shirt, mock-suggestively. "And if people knew my dark, nerdy secret, it would ruin my chances at becoming a porn star on the side."

"I'm sure you'd find a way," Bones said flatly. He shook his head and stood, depositing his canteen on the table beside him. "Need a hand getting dressed?"

It was Jim's turn to reply with a derisive snort as he dropped the shirt on the bed. "If I can't dress myself, I have no business getting discharged. I should be able to handle all my usual stuff, Bones. Just no live training, fitness drills, or sumo wrestling for a week. Huh – I wonder how I'd look in a sumo mawashi." He pushed down his pajama bottoms and stepped out of them gingerly, leaving them in a pile on the floor. But before he could pick them up, Bones snagged them with a deft swipe of the hand and began folding them.

"That's a terrifying image. It's a good thing the Academy doesn't have a sumo team. And you're neglecting the fact that your discharge papers release you to the care of a family member," he said flatly. "Which, in this case, is me. Besides," his tone softened – an odd verbal quirk he'd acquired in the past week, "you'll need some help getting into the support brace."

Jim groaned. "Do I really need that?" He knew the answer anyway.

"It's either that or a wheelchair if you want to go more than a hundred meters or ten minutes upright." Bones grabbed the pajama top off the bed and began folding that, too. "Not worth the chance of you falling over. Don't give me that look. You'll have more leeway tomorrow. And besides, kid, the brace is all force fields. It's invisible, so none of your friends are gonna know. It'll just give you a little extra support, and it's just for a week. Better than having to come back here because you went too far, too fast." There was a hint of strain in his eyes on those last words.

Feeling slightly guilty, Jim nodded. "Okay then."

"You finish getting dressed... and _sit down _to put your pants on... and I'll go finalize your discharge orders and get the brace for you."

Jim tossed him a dismissive mock salute, but as soon as he was out the door, Jim sat down and carefully pulled his pants up over his ankles. He really wasn't taking any chances this time.

Despite his willingness to cooperate with the medical staff after his... _debacle_... the desperate need to get out of the hospital hadn't quite gone away. He just had to resign himself to having an itch he couldn't scratch for a week. The knowledge that the threat was still out there, somewhere, wandering around unchecked, weighed heavily on his mind. He'd tried not to think about it too much, knowing that he couldn't do a damned thing about it. He'd also discovered that trying to discuss it with Bones only put him on the receiving end of a brutal eyebrow and a scathing dressing-down. So he'd done his best not to think about it. But now, with freedom just minutes away, the things he'd done his best to ignore all week were stewing actively boiling - in his mind.

He had to get to the hangar and look for evidence. He had to go to the library and cross-reference Terra Prime with shuttle crashes for patterns. And... _shit_! He hadn't even thought of it... but he needed a copy of the flight-recorder feed. Bones would have it. He felt a flash of relief that he'd actually patched that data feed to Bones' PADD. Otherwise, he'd never get a copy, and the hell if he was going to trust Starfleet to catch everything when they couldn't even stop a saboteur from getting to the shuttle in the first place.

He was just starting to pull his t-shirt over his head when the door chimed. _Huh, Bones was fast. Wonder why he bothered to chime_. "Come in. Hey Bones, do you have -"

His head popped out of his shirt, and he saw... _Not Bones. _Jim pressed his lips together, feeling both confused and slightly violated. He frowned, and kept his voice as neutral as possible. "Romano. What brings you over here?"

Cadet Mario Romano was standing just inside the doorway, arms folded across his chest, but instead of looking defensive or arrogant, he just looked really uneasy. Five centimeters taller than Jim was, with dark hair and an obnoxiously well-chiseled jawline, his nervousness seemed out of place on his normally overconfident features. "Uh... hi, Kirk. I... just heard you were getting out of here today. Okoru told me. Saw her in the library. I... uh..."

Jim felt his frown deepen. He and Romano had established a competitive rivalry at the beginning of hand-to-hand combat the previous spring. Romano had already been an assistant instructor, Cadet Second Class at the time, and Jim had been the damned Fourth Class who had shown him a trick or two. And Jim had subsequently been selected as an Assistant Instructor candidate for the following year. Now he and Romano both had their own Basic Hand-to-Hand Combat sections... and to top it all off, Jim had bested the guy on the flight assessment test.

But it was healthy competition, Jim figured. Their goading each other from their respective flight squads had been good motivation. And after their hand-to-hand sections had their bi-weekly sparring matches, the person with the "winning" group typically bought the other a beer as a show of good humor and cooperation.

Jim had gladly dropped the credits for a lot of beers this semester.

Smoothing out his t-shirt, Jim leaned against the side of the biobed. "What gives, Romano?"

The guy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I feel like an ass."

"It's okay, we're used to it by now," Jim said evenly.

That actually pulled a slight laugh. "Heh. Yeah. How're you feeling?"

Jim shrugged. "Better than a week ago. Pretty good, all things considered."

"I'm glad." He unfolded his arms and rubbed his palms against his thighs. "Listen, Kirk... I know we go back and forth a lot... but I want to make sure you knew I was just messing with you last week. I didn't mean anything by it."

Jim felt his eyebrows furrow. "By what?" An uneasy sensation started to build in his gut.

"I... shit, you don't know? You don't, do you? Maybe..." He made a half-step towards the door. "I should go. I'm sorry to bother you. I'll see you in class later this –"

A quick step angled Jim between Romano and the door. "Hey, hey – slow down there. What the hell are you talking about?"

Romano swallowed thickly, his throat working visibly as his eyes darted towards the door and back to Jim's face. "I... damn, I don't know how to say this."

"In Federation Standard would be great, but I've been studying Andorian this semester." Patience was rapidly running out, and he narrowed his eyebrows. "Come on, Romano, I've known you long enough to know that neither of us dances around words with each other. So spill it."

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips before locking eyes with Jim. "I ran into Tambe before your training flight. I told her... shit, I told her to tell you that I thought you were going to fuck it up. That you were going to botch the maneuver." There was a bizarre look of desperation in his eyes, and something almost fearful. "I didn't mean it like that, Kirk. I... I just need to know that you don't think I meant it like that."

Jim's mouth dropped open, not sure what to make of this. Of Romano's sudden appearance, or what he was saying. "Why... what the hell, Romano? Why would you be worried about that?"

Romano's eyes darted to the door again, and he had the look of a man who had said too much, but knew it was too late to take it back now. "There was a rumor... that you'd said it was sabotage. At least, that's what they're saying around campus. They've interrogated everyone who had access to the hangar in the past month. I needed to make sure you didn't think it was me."

Jim forced a laugh, but it sounded rusty to his own ears. "You're joking, right? No. _No. _Why the hell would I think that?"

"No idea, Kirk. But there's a lot of suspicion bouncing around right now. Around the campus. It's just... kinda crazy around here. It's enough to keep a guy from sleeping at night."

"Shit." Jim cringed inwardly. Romano could be an arrogant prick, but he was alright. "No, man. Stop worrying about it. It wasn't a cadet. No. I mean, it could have been... but... well, don't worry about it. It's not one of us. I'm sure the investigators are just covering all the corners."

Romano nodded, and his shoulders seemed to loosen up a bit, but he still looked uneasy. "Thanks, Kirk. I just needed to clear the air on that."

Forcing what he hoped was an encouraging smile, Jim reached out and clapped the guy lightly on the shoulder. "It's okay. Hey, I've got to finish getting ready to get out of this lovely little pleasure resort. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay," Romano replied with a smile that looked about fifteen degrees off-center. "See you in class."

He turned towards the door without a handshake and moved to step through quickly, as if he couldn't wait to escape the instant it slid open, only to be confronted with the most impressive scowl Jim had ever seen from one Leonard McCoy.

"You Cadet Romano?" His voice was a low and angry growl, and Jim suddenly realized that Bones must have heard the whole conversation through the room's intercom.

"I... yes, sir."

The Eyebrow of Doom rose threateningly. "Good to know. I'll remember that. Now if you'll pardon me, I need to help Cadet Kirk finish getting ready to leave." He gave a short tilt of the head indicating for Romano to get out as quickly as possible, but he didn't move, forcing Romano to actually duck around him. It was almost comical, watching the oversized, combat-trained, swaggering mountain that was Cadet Romano cower and duck away from the peaceful (if occasionally grouchy) doctor. Bones glared over his shoulder as the rapid footsteps faded down the hall, and didn't look back until they were gone.

Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, Bones stepped through the door, shaking his head and grumbling.

"Bones... what the hell?"

"Just a bad feeling, Jim. Watch out for that guy."

"_What_?" Jim shook his head incredulously. "He's one of the other hand-to-hand assistant instructors. I've known the guy since last year."

Bones took a step closer into Jim's personal space and looked at him without flinching. "You were the person who was worried about any possible threat. Maybe I'm just trying to watch your back. I'm a doctor, Jim. I read body language."

"You weren't even in the room."

"I was at the nurses' station, getting the braces. They've got room monitor vids. Trust me, I saw enough. That guy doesn't like you."

"Well, sure, but... wait – no. We push each other's buttons, but it's nothing sinister. It's competition."

"It's more than that, Jim. That guy was nervous as hell that you were going to accuse him."

"Of course he was nervous! They're interrogating everyone. Whoever gets caught – sabotage of a Starfleet vessel is an act of treason. Alongside a murder charge, that's a pretty hefty accusation. You can't blame the guy for being nervous."

"I can't blame him for that, no," Bones said, his tone unreadable. "But... watch your step, Jim. You're worried that someone's out to get you? I don't know if that's true or not, but you'd do well to keep your eyes open."

This was exasperating. Jim looked at Bones incredulously. "Romano's obnoxious, but he's Starfleet. His father's an Admiral! There's no way he's working for Terra Prime."

Something in Bones' expression darkened for a moment, then broke painfully, before he shook his head. It looked like he was trying to dislodge a thought and failing. Finally, he stopped and held up two small devices. "Pull up your shirt. Let me show you how these work."

It wasn't worth pushing the discussion. Not right now. Jim sighed deeply and pulled up his shirt, almost disgusted with himself for how easily he complied with every little order, every intrusion into his personal space. But at least with Bones, it wasn't so bad. And really, after all they'd been through together, he shouldn't mind. Bones had never violated his trust.

So Jim let the argument go, and let Bones get to the task of setting up the brace. Jim nodded and asked the right questions as Bones activated the devices, and was actually impressed with the results. The sensation of cushioning support took some of the faint-but-present ache out of his hips and seemed to help steady him without being visible under his clothes. Not bad. Not too bad at all.

And really, none of it was so bad. He could handle it. It was all just another obstacle to overcome while he got back to the real business of the day – looking for answers.

*.&.*

"Bones, this isn't my dorm. It's yours." Jim got out of the Starfleet Medical transport vehicle in front of Bones' dorm building. "Why are we stopping here?"

"I told you earlier, Jim," Bones said lightly as he took Jim by the elbow. "They released you to the care of a family member. So you're staying with me. At least for the week."

Jim let himself be led up the walkway, almost oblivious to the support of Bones' hand at his elbow. He was more stunned than anything else. "Wait... with all your complaining about how I drink your coffee and bourbon... and my clothes are back at my dorm room... and the bed –"

Bones chuckled dryly as he waved his ID over the scanner, opening the main door of the building. "No alcohol until you're off the painkillers, Jim, so – surprise! The room is devoid of booze at the moment. And I had your roommate pack up your stuff and bring it over here."

"Bones, I can get my own stuff –"

"_And_," he spoke directly over him, "you've got the bed for the week. The couch is pretty comfortable anyway, as you well know, so I'll be just fine. Eighteenth floor," he instructed the turbolift as they stepped inside and the doors slid closed.

For several seconds, Jim stared at Bones, not quite sure what to make of this. "Why, Bones?"

The hand on his elbow tightened, just the tiniest bit. "Because, Jim, I like watching out for you. Because you listed me as family, and that's what I'm going to do." His gaze dropped towards the floor, in a contrite look that looked like a religious confession. "And because I... I owe you, Jim." For a moment, it had sounded like he was going to say something completely different, and a pained grimace twisted his mouth.

"Wait, _what_? Bones, what the hell are you –"

The turbolift door slid open, and in a heartbeat, the bizarre expression on Bones' face morphed back into his usually look of bemused exasperation. "Come on, kid. Home sweet home," he said in a tone that clearly cut off any attempt Jim might have made to get an explanation for his odd comment.

A moment later, they were in the dorm room. Bones busied himself with carrying Jim's duffel to the bed, and was unpacking it into an empty drawer in the –

"Bones? You emptied out a dresser drawer for me?"

That earned a snort in reply. "It was either that, or risk finding your underwear all over my damned room."

Jim couldn't resist a small smile at that. Leave it to Bones to make it sound like doing a favor for a friend was merely to avoid something else he found distasteful. "I could go commando for the week."

"Not in _my _bed, you irrepressible brat."

"Then how am I going to film the porn holovids while you're working clinic?"

Bones slammed the dresser drawer shut with a snap, glaring across the room at Jim. "Seriously, Jim? A couple of weeks without sex, and you're this fixated? Give it a rest already!"

"I've been giving it a rest for almost two weeks. That's the problem."

Bones groaned. "Then save it for your own dorm. Maybe you can get Sven to help."

The banter was starting to feel more comfortable. More like home. Jim grinned mischievously as he sat down on the couch and leaned back, giving Bones an appraising look. "But you're more attractive than Sven. Maybe you could – "

"And _that _will be quite enough, Jim."

"I've got enough, if that's what you'd like." He waggled his eyebrows for good measure.

Bones rolled his eyes. "Why I put up with you, I don't even know –"

Jim grinned to himself as Bones launched into one of his milder rants, which merged into a list of do's and don't's around the dorm room for the week. It was comfortable and familiar – this back-and-forth banter. Even though Bones had visited him every day over the past week, and had helped with the physical therapy and rehab exercises, he'd been just a tiny bit distant... as if he was walking the line between friend and doctor. Maybe it was appropriate for him to be Doctor Leonard McCoy while he was working at Starfleet Medical, but to be blunt, Jim missed Bones. And it was nice to have him back.

"... so while I'm gone, you can relax, watch a holovid – _not _porn, you juvenile delinquent – catch up on some homework –"

Jim blinked, only then catching up with what Bones was saying. "Wait... wait, you're leaving?"

Bones gave him an incredulous look. "Were you listening to a damned thing I said?"

"Yes! Well, mostly. Okay, so I missed most of it." Jim frowned at himself. "But I promise... I'm not going to mess up your stuff, dig through your drawers, throw a party, or eat your leftover Chinese – except maybe the lo mein, but you know you can't keep that stuff safe from me, so don't even try. But I'm not going to do any of that other stuff."

"Or leave."

"What?"

Bones sighed and leaned against the small kitchenette table. "Jim, do I need to remind you that you just left the damned hospital? You're on limited duty, and you can go back to class tomorrow. But for today, unless there are extenuating circumstances, please hang out here and rest until I get back."

Jim stared at Bones for about three seconds longer before he dropped his head back heavily against the couch and groaned at the brief flash of pain that lanced through his skull. _Ugh, it still aches when I do that_. Regardless, headache or no, he wasn't too keen on sitting in an empty dorm room when he'd just been turned loose. "I've been doing nothing but resting for a week!" He waved his hands as if grasping for something he couldn't find. "I was going to go to the library." He thought determinedly of the hangar, which Okoru had said was reopened for cadet access. "Or... well, I was hoping to –"

"You're not going back to the hangar."

Jim looked back up sharply – _okay, that aches more _– frowning. "Why the hell not? I mean, come on, Bones. Don't they say that when you fall off a horse, you should get right back on?"

"Sure, Jim, if nothing's broken, you get back on the horse and keep riding. However, if the rider gets injured, the rider needs to finish healing before attempting to ride again." With his arms folded across his chest, and a piercing gaze leveled unflinchingly at Jim, there was no way to argue.

"Fine. Just... fine. Okay. But where are you going?"

Bones gave him an odd look. "I told you – I have clinic duty tonight."

"They're gonna get sick of seeing you at Starfleet Medical."

"Yeah. You'd think," he said in a hollow tone. He just shook his head to himself, turned, and hit the button on the coffee brewer. He spoke without turning around. "It's a standard shift. Eight hours. There's food in the fridge, if you get hungry. I'll be back in time for supper, and we can order delivery if you want, or I can just grab something from the mess hall on the way back." He glanced back over his shoulder, and his eyes looked distantly haunted. "Comm me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will, Bones." He couldn't do anything but agree.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid. I won't find you unconscious somewhere, right?"

"I promise," he said, as sincerely as he could, despite the surge of annoyance at the lack of trust. Sure, Bones had a reason for being overprotective, but that didn't make him feel any less frustrated. Still, there was something a little bit broken in his best friend's eyes, and he knew his own idiocy was the reason for that, and the guilt was sickening. "I swear, I'll be fine."

Bones nodded and turned back to the coffee brewer. A moment later, it beeped, and he pulled his canteen away from the dispenser, taking a sip before he snapped the lid closed. A bit of the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders, and he finally turned back to face Jim. "I've gotta go now," he said, grabbing his messenger bag. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Will do."

With a brief squeeze of Jim's shoulder, Bones hurried past him and out the door, and Jim sat there, wondering what the fuck had just happened. For several minutes, he stared out the window on the far wall - too high to really see anything but the top of the nearby dorm building from where Jim was sitting - and tried to make sense of it. For a few minutes, Bones had been joking and teasing, and it had felt like they were back to their own selves, but then it was gone. No matter what other shit was going on in his life, Bones was always there, like a grouchy, grumbling anchor, keeping Jim sane and grounded. If something wasn't right with Bones... if he'd come loose from his own center of gravity... Jim didn't know what to do.

And he'd forgotten to ask Bones about the flight recorder feed. He sighed and shook his head. _I'll ask for it when he gets back._For now, Jim grabbed his own PADD from his small messenger bag and settled back against the sofa cushions. If nothing else, he could do some studying... but then his PADD buzzed, signaling an incoming live communiqué.

Frowning, Jim tabbed up the comm screen, only to freeze at the name headlining the hail.

"_Commander Winona Kirk"_

He could ignore it. They hadn't talked in three years... since she'd left for a deep space mission, and long before he'd considered joining the Academy. He'd sent her a few text communiqués, and received short but seemingly heartfelt replies, but they hadn't talked. He was fine with that. Since he'd arrived at the Academy, he'd set himself to the task of building his new life from scratch – a new future, a new purpose, and a new family.

He loved his mother, really, but it was a vestige of his past. She, like his brother, seemed to feel the same way. It was as if staying too close to each other kept the mistakes, problems, memories, and baggage even closer. So they'd each gone on with their lives with the unspoken understanding that this was best for all of them. If she was comming him now, it meant she knew what had happened. Someone had told her, despite the fact that he'd intentionally left her off his contact list.

He'd find out later who had told her. For now, he had to deal with the problem in front of him.

Taking an unsteady breath, he tapped the screen. "Hi, Mom."

*.&.*

Leonard hadn't lied – not really. Not much, anyway. He did have a clinic shift. However, it was just a six-hour shift. Before that, he had a meeting.

It wasn't that he needed to keep this a secret from Jim. In fact, as soon as he and Lieutenant Scott came to any solid conclusions, he promised himself he'd tell Jim everything. But for now, it felt like he needed to protect the kid. A horrendous physical ordeal combined with the impact of losing a teammate was more than enough trauma for anyone. Jim didn't need the added stress. He needed to rest.

And Leonard needed answers.

The hangar loomed in front of him as he scanned his badge at the main security gate. The entire hangar complex had remained restricted until just two days ago, and it was his first chance to get back into the practical engineering lab with Lieutenant Scott. He hadn't received any communiqués from the man, but this was his usual tutoring session that they had planned, and they'd agreed to meet as usual each week. In fact, not meeting would arouse more suspicion, they reasoned.

And if nothing else, Leonard still needed to pass the goddamned class.

The hangar was surprisingly busy for a Sunday night as Leonard hurried through it to walkway across to the Practical Engineering facility. It was quicker to go through, he reasoned, but he also wanted to take a peek around. Wanted to take a look at security measures. Wondered how easy it was to move around in there unnoticed. And really, with all the activity – _Wonder what the hell is going on? _– he was sure that almost anyone with badge access could get away with almost anything unnoticed.

_Probably just all the folks who didn't get to do their work for the past week and a half_, he reasoned. It made sense. The exact same reason he was there – getting access to the facility for the first time in a week. He had studying to do. Had to catch up on his work for class. Meet with his instructor as usual. That's all.

At least, that's all anyone else had to know.

The door opened to the walkway between the hangar and engineering facility. The transparent aluminum arch over the walkway made him feel like a fish in a bowl, or a specimen under a bizarre lens, and he tried to hold his nerves in check as officers and cadets passed by him, acknowledging them appropriately. Finally, he entered the Practical Engineering facility, hurried through the atrium, and took the turbolift to the teaching lab on the third floor.

He walked up to the door of the lab, expecting it to open as always, but barely managed to avoid a collision as the door stayed firmly shut. Frowning, Leonard took a step towards the door again, with no more luck this time. "Computer – is this lab designated for cadet use at this time?"

"_Teaching Laboratory 307 may only be used by cadets under the supervision of a faculty member._"

Leonard scowled at the computer panel. Apparently, there _were_ a few increased security measures around the hangar complex. "Okay… so I'm supposed to be meeting my instructor here. Hasn't Lieutenant Scott reserved the room? Isn't he in there?" _Maybe I'm early. Maybe he's…_

"_Lieutenant Mongomery Scott is not in the building. Teaching Laboratory 307 has not been reserved for supplemental instruction at this time._"

"Maybe he's late," Leonard mused to himself.

"_Conjecture. Unable to compute._"

"I wasn't talking to you." Leonard groaned, walked to the bench a little ways down the hall, and sank slowly onto the too-firm seat cushions.

Lieutenant Scott was never late. In fact, he'd always been early, usually working enthusiastically on some theoretical model on one of the classroom computers. The man has an unhealthy set of fixations on transporter technology and warp engine design, Leonard firmly believed. But either way… he was never late.

Leonard watched the chrono on the wall. Ten anxious minutes ticked past… twenty. The feeling of surrender finally caught up with him. Pulling out his PADD, he thought for a moment, then typed in a quick communiqué to Scott that shouldn't arouse suspicion, but should be enough to get some sort of response from the man.

_Lieutenant Scott,  
In lieu of tutoring this week, would you be willing to recommend additional study techniques or reading material to cover the unit on propulsion systems?  
Thank you,  
Cadet McCoy_

He sent the message, only to feel another surge of anxiety at the confirmation that the communiqué had been sent successfully. Why the hell wasn't Scott there? Sure, there were dozens of possible reasons. With all of the activity in the newly reopened hangar facility, he might be caught up in something related to that. He could be stuck on the crash investigation. He could have forgotten with everything else going on.

_Or maybe we got caught._

It had been a possibility from the beginning, but Leonard had pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn't need to nurse his own case of paranoia. Jim's was enough. However, he was starting to wonder if perhaps the fear was justified.

Trying not to look like a man with too much on his mind, he let himself back out of the building, through the tunnel, across the wide main floor of the hangar, and back outside. It felt as though the wind had picked up a bit, or maybe the chill was his imagination. He still had an hour and a half before his clinic shift. Although guilt made him feel as though he should go back to his dorm room, that would mean that Jim would catch him in his partial lie.

He walked through the gate of East Campus and out onto Crissy Field. A thick bank of fog completely covered Starfleet Headquarters and Starfleet Medical on the north side of the bay, and for a moment, Leonard got the flash of an illusion that the waters of the bay stretched on forever, leaving him lost and alone on an island. It was an odd sensation, and he wondered what it meant.

Despite not actually aiming for it, he found himself at the door of the Warming Hut, and it seemed as fair a place as any to kill an hour and grab a decent lunch. Whenever he neglected to eat before a clinic shift, he inevitably was too busy to eat again until the shift was over. Distracted or not, skipping lunch would be a bad idea.

A few minutes later, with a toasted chicken sandwich and a refilled canteen of coffee, Leonard had ensconced himself in a seat in the corner of the cafe. He glanced around. The cafe filled with the usual sort of crowd – a combination of civilian tourists, locals, and Starfleet. On the far side of the room, a small group of civilians who looked like tourists were talking animatedly, gesturing and laughing. A young woman with two children was trying to keep them from spilling hot chocolate on their clothes, and two cadets seemed to be having a mid-day date. In another corner, an older Starfleet officer was chatting with a couple of civilians in business suits, tucked into a booth. Yeah – pretty typical crowd. He could just hide in the corner... and resume his hunt for evidence even without Lieutenant Scott, before he went stir-crazy.

Leonard reached into his bag, pulled out his PADD and settled it on his knees, leaning the screen against the edge of the table. He grabbed his earphones and popped them into his ears – he didn't need other people around the café hearing this. He hadn't looked at the flight recorder data since the day he'd shown it to Scott. Simple enough reason – the content was damned unnerving, especially with Jim still in the hospital. But now, Jim was well on his way to physical recovery, Scott wasn't around to discuss the matter, and Leonard was ready to go stir-crazy without answers. Anything.

After a couple of bites of his sandwich and a few calming breaths, he pulled up the flight recorder holovid and started the playback.

The café around him faded away, and the only thing that existed was the holovid playing out on his PADD in front of him.

As before, the holovid started with the shuttlecraft still in orbit. Jim and Cadet Tambe were chatting, going through normal pre-flight procedures. Everything seemed fine. Tambe teased Jim about being able to see out the viewports without a pillow to sit on, and Leonard couldn't help but smile. Then, something caught his attention. Frowning, he reset the playback by a minute and listened again.

_"Romano thinks you're going to botch the maneuver, by the way." "Cadet Romano doesn't think they should have let me test out of half the second-year courses. So let him. He just can't handle the fact that my assessment for flight training was higher than his current standing, and he's graduating in May." "Well, let's show Cadet Romano..."_

Leonard paused the holovid and sat back slowly. He thought about the conversation he'd heard between Jim and Cadet Romano that morning in Jim's hospital room. Sure, he'd based his response to Romano on body language and gut instinct, but now, he had to admit that maybe it was more than just instinct alone. He'd heard the name before, and now, it had clicked.

But he hadn't seriously thought that Romano was a threat. He just hadn't liked the guy, who'd happened to be in Jim's hospital room at that moment, making Jim visibly uneasy. But… a Starfleet cadet? No. As competitive as cadets were, that just seemed... too far-fetched. Insane, really. Sure, Jim was really damned competitive, set the bar so high that most people couldn't reach it (much less jump over it), and made it all look effortless, but for another cadet to do this to him?

Not wanting to consider it, but unwilling to miss any scrap of evidence, Leonard listened to it one more time, filed away the tid-bit of information, then let the playback continue.

Jim piloted around the moon, noted the problem with the engine efficiency, and had some unique idea for fixing it. His quick fix only seemed to make the problem worse. Tambe argued with him about ignoring it, but then worked on it herself when things started fluctuating again.

Leonard felt as if his body was sinking back and away from him as he stared at the screen, needing to see everything, and simultaneously wishing he could look away. Jim's frantic desperation became more and more intense, and Leonard had to remind himself to breathe.

As the shuttle's orbit around Mars began to degrade rapidly, Jim seemed to make one last ditch effort – _Dammit, why does the flight recorder feed only show the front half of the shuttle and the viewscreen?_ – and Leonard could hear his shocked exclamation, '_What the fuck is tha_–_' _just before there was another lurch and trajectory shift, and Jim barely got himself strapped in again, begging for the rescue that never came, just moments before the shuttle's violent descent towards the surface of Mars came to a shocking end.

By the time the holovid ended, the two cadets and the woman with the two young kids were gone. The gaggle of civilians were picking up their cups and putting them in the recycler, and the old Starfleet officer was standing and shaking hands with the men in business suits. Leonard's sandwich was cold. It didn't matter - lunch was over, and he'd lost his appetite anyway.

Groaning to himself, he wrapped up the remains of his sandwich and tucked it into his bag. Maybe he'd find his appetite later. It wouldn't help anyone if he didn't eat. He reached up onto the table for his PADD, but as he deactivated it, he caught the old officer looking at him oddly from across the room. With a start, he realized the man was an Admiral, and a familiar one at that. He was of just taller-than-average height, with a thick neck, moustache, red face, and a critical scowl. Leonard had only seen this man once before… in Jim's hospital room. And that encounter… well, Leonard was probably lucky that he hadn't been kicked out of the Academy.

Spurred to his feet by a surge of fear, and trying desperately to maintain calm façade, Leonard shoved his PADD into his bag. "Sir?"

The Admiral didn't look away, but he didn't approach Leonard either. He narrowed his eyes, made a deep noise in his throat, and without a word, hurried out the door.

For a long time, Leonard stood perfectly still, staring at the door, waiting for his heart to stop pounding. This was the asshole who had interrogated Jim. He was part of the investigation. With rapidly compounding anxiety, Leonard wondered if there was any way the man could have figured out what he'd been watching on his PADD. He had been sitting against the wall with the screen facing away from everyone else, and had been using the earphones.

Then he frowned. He tapped the earphone in his left ear once… and heard the faint chime as it activated… which meant he hadn't activated them in the first place.

His stomach dropped and his breath caught in his throat. _Oh fuck_. The volume hadn't been loud, but chances were that the Admiral had heard enough to know what he'd been watching.

In a rush, Leonard sat back down at the table and began deleting every trace of the file, his own notes, and anything related to the crash from his PADD. Normally, there was no need for a cadet's PADD to be accessed by officers, and usually it was only the stuff on their Assignment Folder… things that were meant for the instructors to see. Jim had fed the datastream directly into Leonard's personal data folder, but it still wasn't truly safe from the prying eyes of a Priority One investigation.

Finally, knowing that there was no way fix this now, Leonard grabbed his canteen, looped his bag over his shoulder, and made his way back to the transport shuttle pad to the medical campus. He still had a goddamned clinic shift to work.

*.&.*

Jim had stared at the wall for a solid half hour after closing the comm channel with his mother. The conversation had been awkward. Blatant concern and worry - she was a mother, after all - strung together with pained questions of _why didn't you tell me_ and _why am I not your next-of-kin_. Those had been hard to answer. Harder to justify. At least, harder than when he'd justified them to himself.

After the incident the previous year with Terra Prime, he'd realized how lucky he'd been that he was awake and lucid when they got him back to Starfleet Medical. He'd been able to tell them not to notify his mother or brother. The very notion had made him feel awkward and exposed, and it was sobering to realize that he didn't feel as close to his own family as much as he'd come to trust and care for the cranky old doctor who'd almost died alongside him. So when he'd updated his personal information shortly thereafter, he'd removed all mention of his blood relatives from his next-of-kin list, and had filled that blank spot in the form with Bones' name.

But somebody must have gone over his head. Someone had violated his privacy. Somebody had commed his mother from halfway across the quadrant, getting her special access to rapid-feed subspace communications channels so she could crash back into his life when he wasn't ready for it.

Jim's comm beeped.

And _somebody _was replying to his meeting request.

Feeling somewhat bitter and oddly detached, Jim picked up the comm and flipped it open. "Captain Pike."

*.&.*


	9. Chapter 9

Pike came by fifteen minutes later with an Academy transport vehicle, and Jim was waiting just outside the front door of the dorm. It wasn't far, and he would have preferred to walk, but it was enough that he was leaving Bones' room. He might as well be responsible about it.

_Extenuating circumstances_, Jim thought bitterly. Bones couldn't fault him for this one.

Jim eased himself carefully into the passenger seat of the vehicle, giving the Captain a nod of greeting.

"Kirk," Pike began plaintively, "listen, I know you're not pleased about the comm from your mother, but a week and a half ago -"

Jim cut him off with a nerve-wracked glance. "Can we wait until we get there, sir?"

Grimly, Pike nodded, and drove the car off down the access road.

The campus rolled by under blank skies of an overcast afternoon. Thin fog mixed with the high clouds, wrapping everything in white-gray that was obscenely bright and horribly dull at once. The faint hum of the engine whined in Jim's ears, and the car was too clean, too sterile, and felt like a cage. Jim felt nauseous at the idea that the sensation of being caged felt familiar.

They were only going across the campus, and soon, the car swerved gently and pulled into a spot in front of a small campus cafe. Jim had refused to go to Pike's office – a private place like that would have felt even more restrictive. Normally, he'd think that Pike's office would feel safe, but after this sort of betrayal, he didn't much trust Pike, either.

The car door opened with a touch, and Jim eased himself out of the car. Without even looking at Pike, he went straight for the door of the cafe, entering first and setting the tone for the conversation. It was his lead, his show. He was tired of being pushed around.

The cafe was dimly lit for the evening shift, and music a bit like jazz only less tuneful droned on in the background. Only a few cadets and a couple of officers dotted the booths and tables, mostly immersed in conversation or staring intently at PADDs. It wasn't exactly private, but it was better than being cornered in Pike's office, and the hell if he was going to let Pike into Bones' dorm – his only personal refuge at the moment.

A couple of minutes later, Jim had a cup of coffee and had settled himself into a corner booth. Pike joined him, and Jim glared at him over the rim of his coffee cup. He didn't need to speak – Pike knew exactly what he wanted to discuss.

Leaning heavily on the table, Pike gave him a level gaze. "I'm not going to apologize for contacting your mother." His voice was firm, unwavering.

Instantly, felt a flush of furious heat creep up his neck, and he knew he was losing control of the conversation already. Gritting his teeth, he leaned over his own cup of coffee, muscles clenching. He wasn't going to let this go so easily. "Why not? I may be just a cadet, but my medical directives and living will are my own, regardless of my rank. You had _no_right to go over my head like that!"

Pike didn't flinch. "As your academic advisor, no, I don't have the right." Something in his stone-hard poker face cracked, just slightly. "As someone who's known your mother for years... I owed it to her."

"To _her_? You know her? I... is this some sort of joke? You can't just violate my privacy because you interviewed her while doing your dissertation... _sir_."

"I met her long before that, son." A slightly pained note touched his normally stoic voice. "We were at the Academy together ourselves. But Jim," he said, and the rare use of Jim's first name made him sit up a bit straighter, "I wasn't the one who broke the news to her."

One slap in the face after another. Jim shook his head, not really comprehending. "What do you mean?"

Pike looked down at his hands for a moment, rotating his cup of coffee on the table and staring at it thoughtfully. "Starfleet isn't as big as people think it is. People know each other. Your flight instructor this semester... he was on the _Kelvin_. Pilot. He was ordered to pilot one of the escape shuttles... specifically one of the medical shuttles... off the ship. It was the last one to leave." He looked back up. There was no apology in his eyes, but the sympathy was palpable.

"Captain Tanner?" Jim asked bleakly. The room twisted back and forth in front of him, and he realized he was shaking his head. He steadied himself and looked at Pike, hoping beyond hope that the guy would admit it was a sick joke.

Pike merely nodded. "Captain Tanner. He sent a communiqué to your mother while you were still in surgery."

"No. _No._" Jim shook his head again, refusing to hear this. "Why the hell did... what gives him the right to..." He gritted his teeth furiously, glaring at his cup of coffee, and wanting nothing more than to grab it and hurl it against the far wall.

"Nothing gave him the right, Kirk, but he watched the crash, remember? He's your instructor, and he was monitoring the whole thing. He, like most of us, was afraid that you were going to die. And when people find themselves in emotionally trying situations like that, they often make decisions without thinking it through."

"Without thinking it through," Jim echoed, turning the words into a derisive snarl. "So the guy knew my mother twenty-three years ago, and he works himself into an emotional tiff because some cadet crashes a shuttle?"

"James Kirk," Pike said with deliberate emphasis, "someday, you're going to be in charge of a crew – I hope – and you're going to learn that every time one of your crew members gets injured or killed, it rips out a little piece of your soul. Captain Tanner would have been upset if _any _of his cadets had been injured. And I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he's going to grief counseling because of Cadet Tambe. He'll hold it together in front of your squad, because that's what a leader does, but he took it hard. Really hard."

The thought of the energetic and upbeat Captain sitting in a dark office talking to a shrink about his feelings sobered Jim's emotions... just slightly. But not enough. "Yeah, but he probably didn't violate her living will because he knew her parents." Jim blew out a sharp breath, trying to keep calm, but it wasn't really helping. No matter how hard he ran, how far he went, and how deep he tried to bury it, his fucking past kept coming back to bite him. "Why? Why the hell does my past have to keep fucking with my life?"

"If you think anyone can escape their past, you've got a lot to learn."

"I think I've learned plenty this week," he said flatly. "And now I get to learn that one of my instructors is buddies with my mother because he was flying the damned shuttle I was born on. After everything I've been through, I don't need a lesson on how the past follows us around. And I didn't need to learn that my instructor breached my privacy and my legal next-of-kin orders!" He hissed the last few words, glad the cafe was almost empty and that the music was just loud enough to cover what he was saying.

Pike, however, wasn't backing down. "You have to understand, Kirk, that the shuttles from the _Kelvin_ were stuck in deep space for a few days before they were able to rendezvous with a rescue ship. It was a deeply stressful few days, and people form lifelong friendships in circumstances like that." He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. "Tanner took a reprieve from deep space missions after the _Kelvin _was destroyed, and began working at the Academy. He kept in touch with your mother over the years. Wanted to know how you were doing, growing up. You can't blame him."

"Yes I can. He never said anything to me." The words sounded distant to Jim's ears – not even like his own voice.

"Would you have wanted him to?"

"Yes! He should have said… I don't know, but _something_." He shook his head irritably. "All this time... was he violating my privacy? Was he reporting on me to my mother like a damned watchdog? Did he send her progress reports on me?"

Pike held up his hands. "Whoa, Kirk, don't go jumping to conclusions! No, he didn't. But after a crash like that..." He pressed his lips together harshly, giving Jim a searching look. "He had no way of knowing that she wasn't listed as your next-of-kin. _She _thought she was. Captain Tanner probably assumed she'd already been notified. He called her to apologize... for not preventing it." Sorrow twisted Pike's normally confident features. "She commed me next. Demanded details. You may not have the best mother-son relationship with her, but for God's sake, she loves you. And she demanded to speak to you."

"So you let her."

He tilted his head at Jim, giving him a look that was somewhere between regretful and critical. "Yes. I did. And what would you have done in my shoes? Kirk, you're a tough and resourceful person. So is your mother. If I hadn't authorized a direct subspace comm channel, believe me, she would have found another way."

"Great," Jim muttered under his breath. "Just great. I get in a shuttle crash, spend a week and a half trapped in the hospital, and as soon as I get out, I get to face a blast from the past. Perfect. Just great. For once, _just once_, when things go to shit, can't fate leave me the hell out of it? I didn't need to talk to my mother, and I didn't really want to."

Pike leaned barely an inch further forward, but Jim suddenly felt like the man was directly in his personal space. "Kirk, you need to understand one thing, and you need to understand it now." His eyes burned with fierce determination. "It's not all about you."

Jim felt his jaw drop. Blinked a few times out of sheer incredulity before planting his hands on the table and glaring back at Pike. "Not all about me? Wouldn't I just _love _it if that were true, Captain. Just love it. But no, when every stupid thing grabs me and gnaws me to pieces, like the universe's favorite chew-toy, how the hell am I supposed to think otherwise?"

At that, Pike's eyes actually narrowed angrily. "Maybe if you _were _thinking, you would see that you're not the only person getting chewed up here. Maybe you'd remember that your mother already lost one person she loved to space, and just a week and a half ago, she almost lost another. Maybe you'd remember how many other families have been torn apart by tragedies and accidents associated with space exploration and conflicts."

"Of course I remember tha –"

But Pike wasn't done, and he leaned in further, punctuating his words with a finger jabbing the tabletop. "Maybe, _Cadet_, you'd notice that the entire campus kept your name from being slipped to the media to protect you, because it's not about _you_ – it's about Starfleet, and you're part of the team. And maybe, just _maybe_, you'd realize that your best friend almost made himself sick because he was so damned distraught after you crashed... and was practically _gutted _after that little escape stunt you pulled last week... as if he didn't have enough other shit going on in his life."

"Bones..." Jim felt himself unravel so fast, he wondered if someone had removed his skeleton as he sagged back against the cushion of the booth. "I..." He shook his head, then stared up at Pike, wondering where the hell the man managed to find an unlimited supply of poise and wit.

Pike nodded slowly, with an edge of grim satisfaction. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad here. You've been through hell, and I know it." He took a quick sip of his drink, then licked his lips thoughtfully. "But you need to understand... now that you're out of the hospital, you've got to be aware that there's more going on here. You're operating in a bigger picture."

"I know," he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his own voice.

"Do you now?"

"I know that because of the stunt I pulled last year, blowing up Terra Prime's base of operations, the Academy is a target. I know they probably did this. And they probably targeted the shuttle because I was piloting it. I know Tambe died because I was on that shuttle."

The stunned look on Pike's face was as surprising to Jim as his next words. "You need to stop that. You're missing the point, and you're jumping to conclusions again. You can't assume something like that when the investigation has barely scratched the surface."

"I can't assume? I told you that it was sabotage. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I do, but –"

"Then if it was sabotage, why would someone sabotage _my _shuttle, sir? The officers who interrogated me asked if I had any enemies –"

"They shouldn't have questioned you at that time."

" – and I've only got one that I know of," Jim continued right over him. "Terra Prime. And I think we both know that they've got the capability and resources to do something like this."

"I'm not arguing with that, but we can't be certain that they were even involved. The investigation is ongoing."

"And what have they found, huh? Nobody's told me anything."

It could have been a trick of the light, but Jim swore that Pike fucking _scowled_. "I'm in the dark, too. The investigation is classified." He shook his head. "But that's not the point."

Trying to rein in his mounting frustration, Jim dug his fingers into the tabletop, as if the sturdiness of the polished wood could ground him. "Then, sir, if you'd kindly enlighten me as to what _the point _is?"

"The point, Cadet Kirk, is that a lot of things are happening around here. And I want to see you get through this with your career and wits intact."

"Because it would make you look bad if I fail." The cynicism poured out before he could stop it, not that he wanted to.

"No, Cadet!" Pike growled angrily. "Because I think you'd do amazing things... be an amazing officer... if you can keep your damned head out of your ass. You've done brilliantly for more than a year. Exceeded everyone's expectations... including mine. You won the Medal of Honor, for God's sake! I don't care if you haven't told a soul, and the medal hasn't seen the light of day because it's hidden in my office safe – it's _yours_, son. But that won't mean anything if you don't get your commission and become the officer I know you can be. And if you can't see that you're part of something bigger, and realize that it's not always about _you_, then it's not going to happen."

The room seemed to be spinning, and the air was getting a bit thick. "Sir?"

Pike's face seemed to pinch with frustration for a moment before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Kirk, I need you to promise me something. Well, a few things."

Jim licked his lips and swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "I'll try, sir."

Pike nodded, cast an uneasy glance around the room, then focused tightly on Jim. "First and foremost, promise me that you're not going to overdo it. Don't violate your medical profile until your doctors clear you for full duty."

Feeling suddenly relieved that the requests were going to be simple, Jim actually laughed lightly. "Believe me, sir, there's no way I'm going to do anything that could land me back in that biobed. I was ready to start counting cracks in the paint, except there weren't any."

"Good enough," Pike replied. "Second, I need you to focus on your classwork. I know your grades are top-notch, but I mean _really _focus. You're trying to complete a three year program, and while I still say it's a bit ambitious, you're still on track to do it. With this setback, you need to prove you can pull it together."

"I can do that," he said, feeling even more confident. "I've already caught up with my reading for my classes and finished the written assignments for the next two weeks." He pressed his lips together in chagrin. "Told you – being stuck in a bed for a week, it gets boring. Even homework almost seems entertaining."

At that, Pike smirked in wry humor. "Stop pretending that you don't like to study, son. We all know better." His smirk disappeared, and his expression became deadly serious. "And this is the most important thing I need you to promise me, Kirk."

"Okay...?"

"You're insatiably curious. I know this. You can't leave well enough alone. And Kirk, I _respect _that. I think we need more Starfleet officers with that attitude. But... this time... I need you to promise that you won't investigate this crash."

Jim blinked. Stared. "Wait a second – I'm not supposed to do anything?"

"That's right."

"What the... if you don't mind me asking, sir, why not?"

Pike looked at him sideways. "I don't mind you asking, but I'm sorry to say there's not much I can explain."

"Wait – no. I had my shuttle sabotaged, my teammate killed, and I'm supposed to shut my mouth and be the good little cadet? And you won't tell me why?"

"If you so desperately need a reason, I'll put it simply: I don't want you trying to get yourself tangled up in this when you're going to need all your strength and focus just to get yourself back in the game."

Jim stared at Pike for another few seconds in incredulity. "That's it."

"That's right."

Jim couldn't believe he was hearing this. One of the few things keeping him sane all week was the notion that once he got out, he could begin investigating the cause of the crash. Try to find evidence... and jog his memory enough so that he could _see_ that stupid _something_ in the fucking shuttle engine. His mind was saying that it should be something familiar... but he had no idea what. It made no sense, but it was right _there_, and he just needed to figure it out.

But now, apparently, it didn't matter, because he wasn't supposed to go looking into it at all. How could he just go along with that? He could be discreet if he needed to be, but he couldn't just _let it go_.

Yet there was Pike, sitting across from him, eyes and jaw set like stone on a face that suddenly looked older than it had just months before. "I can see what you're thinking."

"And what am I thinking, sir?"

"That you need answers. That you don't want to sit back and wait for the investigation committee to do their job. But I'm telling you right now: stay out of it. You don't know how complicated this has become."

"How so?" The words felt like sawdust in his mouth.

"I can't tell you... but have you seen the news lately?"

In a flash, Jim's mind snapped back to the news reports that had been cycling all week, with random mentions of Terra Prime, security threats, shuttlecraft engines, and Starfleet Academy. "Yes," he said slowly, deliberately. "I have."

"Good. Then you might have some idea of the politics spinning around right this place now."

"I don't know, sir. I've been cooped up in medical confinement for ten days. Could you clue me in?"

Pike actually smirked. "Nice try, Cadet Kirk. No, I can't clue you in. But I know you had access to a holovid news feed like everyone else, and I know you're usually pretty good at pulling clues together yourself, so all I can do is suggest that you try that approach."

Jim twisted his lips grimly. "Yeah," he said, thinking of his interrupted attempts to discuss his thoughts with Bones. The man hadn't wanted to discuss any of it, especially not Terra Prime, which had left Jim with a bunch of poorly formed ideas and no sounding board. "Maybe I'll talk it over with McCoy."

The smirk relaxed into a gentle smile, the first Pike had offered all evening. "He might help you put things into perspective. He's a sharp man."

"He is. And I owe him."

"More than you know," Pike said softly.

Instantly, Jim frowned. "What do you mean?"

But Pike only smiled wider. "How about I take you back to the dorm?"

He knew he should, but instead, Jim shook his head. "I'd like to finish my coffee."

"I can wait."

"Alone."

Now Pike frowned and shifted in his seat. "Kirk, you only just got out of the hospital. You shouldn't overdo it."

"I won't." He took a small sip of coffee. Yeah, it was definitely getting cooler than he preferred. "I'm just going to sit here. Think a bit. I've been stuck in a small room all week, sir, and while I don't plan to do anything that could put me back there, I really need to breathe a bit." At Pike's continuing skepticism, Jim sighed. "I'll take a campus transport back to the dorm. I promise, it'll be fine."

Pike continued to stare at him critically for a moment, then his shoulders relaxed and he nodded. He slid out of the booth, then picked up his coffee. "Take care of yourself, Kirk. Comm me if you need anything. And good luck back in class tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," Jim said automatically, but as Pike started to walk away, Jim called out softly, "Captain Pike?"

The man glanced back over his shoulder. "Cadet?"

Jim swallowed, took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said softly, "for getting the comm link with my mother."

Pike gave a subtle smile, just barely a nod, and then he was gone.

Jim stared at the door for a moment before looking back down at his coffee, and wishing he had something stronger. Pike was right – he did have the skills to run his own investigation and cover his tracks. So he'd just have to be careful about it.

But that could wait… just a little while. For the moment, there were other things he needed to do.

*.&.*

Six hours in the Starfleet Medical clinic, Leonard decided, was five and a half hours too long. Why was it that normally sane people felt a compulsive need to damage themselves on Sunday afternoons? At least the busy shift had mostly kept his mind off the disturbing events from earlier.

Lieutenant Scott hadn't replied to his message. The look that admiral had given him was still making his stomach jump nervously. And now, on top of it all, the flight recorder data was gone.

He'd made the right decision to delete it, he knew, but it all left him with a sobering realization: he didn't have a goddamned thing to go on anymore. Hopefully Scott would reply to him, and there would be a reasonable explanation for his missing the tutoring appointment. Without Scott, he was lost. Leonard knew he didn't have a clue about shuttlecrafts and engineering. He couldn't figure this out on his own. All he had was his memory of the recording, which left him with… nothing.

He shook his head at himself, and shivered. It was much colder now than when his clinic shift had started, and as he made his way across the grounds towards the dorms, the sparsely populated campus of late Sunday seemed seemed more bleak than usual. It was cold, yes, but the chill of the wind and fog had nothing on the coldness that had gripped him to his bones.

For now, Leonard knew just one thing - his dorm room was warm and safe, Jim was there, and nothing sounded better at the moment than a really spicy batch of Pad Thai delivered directly to his dorm. He wrapped his parka tighter around his torso, more for the psychological comfort than the physical protection the flimsy material offered against the wind, then bent his head down and began walking faster. The dorm was too far, and the turbolift to the 18th floor was too slow, but walking into his dorm room was a welcome relief. He grinned as he pulled off his coat and unzipped his tunic before he was even fully through the door.

"Hey Jim , the weather is shit out there, so how would you feel about calling delivery for some Thai food - Jim?" Leonard dropped his tunic on the chair and took another step into the room. "Hey, Jim?" A quick check around the divider wall showed that the bed was empty, and Leonard started to feel a rising tide of panic.

Rushing back to his bag, he dug his communicator out of his pocket and flipped it open... only to notice immediately that he'd missed a call. From Jim.

Stomach jumping, and not sure if Jim had called in distress or just to let him know that he was fine, Leonard keyed in his access code and played back the voice message.

"_Hey Bones, I know you're busy at clinic, and if my guess is right, you won't bother to check your comm until you get back to the dorm and panic because I'm not there. So... Kirk to McCoy - I'm fine. Repeat: I'm fine. Got it?"_

Leonard felt a rush of air back into his lungs. _Oh thank God. _But the absence of panic left an immediate vacancy for a rising tide of irritation and anger.

"_And now that you're not panicking, I know you're about to get angry..."_

_You'd think the kid knows me, _Leonard thought sardonically.

_"... but you did say 'extenuating circumstances,' and I think this qualifies."_ There was the sound of a tight breath and a cough. _"My mother contacted me. Pike, and apparently Captain Tanner, told her what happened. So I commed Pike. We went to talk up at the cafe on the main campus quad. Don't worry, I didn't walk all that way – Pike drove. But... I need to do some thinking, Bones. I figure sitting here won't cause any harm. When you get out of clinic, could you meet me here? Thanks, Bones."_

The comm unit chimed to signal the end of the message.

Leonard stared at his comm unit blankly. No, he didn't want to go back out, dammit. It had been a long day and a longer week. He had two lectures and two labs tomorrow, and he wanted to sprawl out on his couch with a blanket and Pad Thai. It was getting dark outside, and it was cold and foggy and miserable and -

_Goddammit._

Shaking his head, he thumbed the button to activate the comm channel. "McCoy to Kirk." He waited five seconds. Ten. Frowned. "Doctor Leonard McCoy to Cadet James Kirk." After a few more seconds of silence, Leonard slammed the comm shut and growled. Someday, he swore, he was going to put a tracking collar on that kid.

But for now, he had to find him, and damned if he was ever going to be able to do things the easy way with Jim Kirk. But at least this time, Jim had told him where to start looking.

Shrugging his jacket back on, he cast one wistful glance of longing back at the quilt on his couch before turning and hurrying out the door.

By the time Leonard closed in on the cafe, it was dark enough outside that the windows glowed like beacons through the fog. The little place was open all day and night, but it was busiest on weekdays and at night during finals. At this hour on a Sunday night, it would be fairly empty. Finding Jim should be easy, and then he could call a campus transport and bring the kid back to the dorm where he belonged.

Stepping through the door, Leonard took a deep breath of the warm air, suffused by the aroma of coffee, before hurriedly walking through the rows of tables and booths, glancing around every corner. There were a couple of cadets tucked into booths, apparently studying things on PADDs, but Jim wasn't amongst them. He was about to open his comm again when a voice called out from across the cafe.

"Hey there – McCoy, right?"

Leonard stopped in his tracks and turned around to see the young woman who he'd often seen working there on desperate coffee runs when he didn't have time to make it back to his room, or when he and Jim caught a quick bite at the cafe. She was standing behind the front counter, her hands busy with wiping down an old-fashioned espresso machine, but her eyes fixed on him.

"How'd you know?" he asked bluntly, rather confused.

"Cadet Kirk described you, and I've seen you in here with him. He said you'd be here, probably... right about now. Looking for him."

It was all Leonard could do to keep from groaning. "And, pray tell, is there a reason why Cadet Kirk would need to describe me to someone, instead of just being here like he said he'd be? It's bad enough he's not answering his comm."

The woman had the good graces to look mildly apologetic, despite the fact that it was absolutely not her fault. "He said he was turning off his comm for a while, and asked if I'd be able to direct you to find him," she said, stepping out from behind the counter.

"And did he explain _why _he was turning off his comm?" Leonard asked acerbically.

She stepped to the door, which slid open in front of them, letting a gust of chilly wind sweep through. "Because," she said softly, pointing across the quad, "he said having a comm turned on at a friend's memorial site wouldn't be appropriate." She gave Leonard a curious but skeptical look. "Everything okay?"

He looked at her sideways, and half-nodded. "I hope so."

It wasn't far at all across the quad to the small memorial at the edge of the campus gardens. The evening air still had a sharp chill to it, but Leonard was far more focused on the small lantern shining through the fog, shorter and brighter than the regular lamp posts. As he got closer, he could see the shape of a table, long and low, piled with flowers, holos, trinkets, and tokens. And sitting on a bench just across from the memorial itself, with his back turned towards the path, was Jim.

Barely more than a silhouette in the darkness, he was absolutely motionless. Shoulders hunched over against the evening chill, lower back just a bit more straight than looked natural – _the support brace_, Leonard thought to himself. The lamplight cast just a warm glow on the edges of his face, his arms, the bench... an island of light in the shadows.

Coming closer, Leonard could see the stoic clench of Jim's jaw. He twitched just slightly as Leonard gently cleared his throat to let Jim know he was no longer alone, but Jim didn't turn around.

"Jim?" Leonard finally came up to stand behind Jim's shoulder, looking at the memorial with him.

After a few more seconds, he sighed faintly. "Her first name was Abhaya," he said without turning around. "That means 'fearless' in Hindi. And she was, Bones. She was, to the last."

The lamp posts throughout the quad cast shadows at odd angles around Jim's neck and shoulders. From this close, Leonard could now see the slight trembling in Jim's shoulders, belying tension in how he held himself. He looked small, almost fragile, sitting alone in the near-darkness. The small spot of shorter hair in the back of his head was still visible, and Leonard had a sudden urge to wrap him in a blanket and pull him away from the cold night.

"I know she was, Jim." Slowly, he rested a hand on Jim's shoulder. "But so are you."

"I don't know about that anymore, Bones."

Frowning, Leonard moved around to the front of the bench and sat down next to Jim, looking at him the whole time. "What do you mean?"

"I was going to find Tambe's killer. I was going to investigate. And our flight team was all in on it. We were going to do it together. Solve the mystery." He shook his head slowly. "But Pike... he told me to stay out of it. Don't investigate. Focus on classes and don't get messed up with the investigation."

Leonard all but snapped his mouth shut. If Pike had told Jim not to go looking for answers, he was pretty sure that the edict would apply to himself as well, and that the Captain would be severely unimpressed if he found out what he'd been doing.

At the same time… he found himself agreeing with Pike's advice as far as Jim was concerned. The kid was a mess – physically compromised, emotionally wrought, and desperately needing to rest and recover. Jim didn't need to be trying to run his own investigation. Leonard had promised Jim he'd help look for answers… but maybe Jim shouldn't be involved in looking just yet.

"Jim, maybe Pike's right," he said carefully. "You've got too much on your plate right now. The last thing you need is something else to exhaust you while you're trying to get back on track. Hell, you only got out of the hospital this morning. Maybe… we should wait and see what the official investigation turns up."

Jim gawked at him. "What? Are you kidding me? Bones… you said we'd look for answers! And now you're agreeing with Pike? Are you with me or against me?"

"Whoa, that's not what… I'm not saying _no_. I'm saying… maybe you should wait."

"I don't know if I can do that." He clenched his jaw tightly again. "How the fuck am I supposed to let this go, Bones? Give up like that? How can I give up on Tambe?"

"Are you listening to me, Jim? It's not giving up! You've been through hell. Give it time. See what the official investigation turns up. Just... for me."

Slowly, the tension in Jim's jawline bled away, and he nodded. "It just feels too much like giving up."

"You aren't capable of giving up, Jim. That's one of the best things about you. And you'll get the answers you want... eventually. But in the meantime –" He reached out and rested a hand on Jim's arm. " – let's get you out of this miserable weather and back home."

Jim didn't react to the hand on his arm. Instead, he continued to stare straight ahead at the memorial, eyes seemingly fixed on one spot. "I won't back down, Bones. If they don't find answers, I'll find them myself. Even if I have to wait, I'm going to figure it out. I owe it to Tambe."

"You owe yourself time to recover. You can't just – "

"She was going for her Assistant Instructor status with the pilot program." Suddenly, he stood up, pulling out of Leonard's light grasp, and walked over to the memorial table. "She can't do that anymore. So I'm going to do it for her."

Jim pulled something out of his pocket – it looked like a data chip, the kind that people often used to record personal messages – and deposited it on the table amid all the other tokens and offerings that had been left there. Then he turned back around and looked down at Leonard. "But Bones... I'm still going to keep my eyes open. If I see something, I'm going to follow up on it. And if the official investigation falls short of justice for her, I swear, I'll make it right."

Leonard stared at Jim, unsure of what to say. He'd found the kid sitting alone in the dark, on a cold stone bench, only hours after he'd left the hospital. Now, he wanted to take on one of the goals of his dead teammate. Of course he did – it was Jim. He'd take on the world if he had to. While that sort of thing could provide closure for some people, it seemed like too much for Jim to consider taking on just then. Feeling a bit nervous, Leonard stood and moved face to face with Jim. "Maybe you should give it some time, Jim. Think about it. You've still got a ways to go. Tambe wouldn't want you to hurt yourself just so you can remember her."

Jim's expression fell, just a bit. "You want me to just scrap the idea?"

Leonard shook his head emphatically. "I never said that, Jim. Just to wait a bit. And I swear, when you're ready, if you still want to do something crazy like that... I'll be there to back you up."

Finally, Jim smiled. It was faint, but even in the shadows, it was there. "Thanks, Bones. I'll still want to do it. I promise that. But… I'll wait." He shivered. "So, how about we get the hell out of here, huh? It's freezing for this time of year! I've heard of blue balls, but this is is starting to reach a whole different level."

Leonard almost stumbled over the sudden shift, but recovered quickly. That was Jim… deflecting again. For now, he could go with it. For now, it would keep Jim satisfied and get him back to the warmth of the dorm room. Leonard just wondered what the next hurdle would be.

With a sigh, he walked off with Jim, shoulder to shoulder.

*.&.*


	10. Chapter 10

**NOTES:** Again, sorry for the delay. My plans to post regularly are being thwarted by the stress of full-time work, part-time classes, and full-time recovery from knee surgery. This is seriously kicking my ass. What's funny is that I wrote this fic two years ago, and here I am now, posting it, and fully sympathizing with Jim's complete sense of being trapped and immobilized. I've been in a knee immobilizer for three and a half weeks now. My hope is that I'll be switched into a normal knee brace by the end of next week so I can finally get off the crutches. But anyway, I'm definitely sympathizing with Jim here. If nothing else, I wanted to apologize for my slowness in updating. I'll try to keep up with it. Enjoy the chapter!

*.&.*

Jim grinned to himself as his Tactics professor dismissed the class.

It was Tuesday morning, and it felt good to be back in classes, doing normal things, and feeling normal again. Well, almost normal. He was still achy, but he knew that some of it was just the muscles that had barely been used for more than a week suddenly being stretched and used again. And at Bones' insistence, he was even taking his pain meds – pills, to his relief – and he had to admit that it made the day much more comfortable.

And really, he was comfortable. Mostly comfortable. It had been good to see his classmates again. Nobody crowded him, but there were heartfelt greetings from the people he'd seen, touched with a sense of relief and concern for his continued recovery. On the other hand hand, it was a bit awkward. He'd prepared himself for it, though, knowing that if it had been one of his classmates, he'd be concerned, and possibly doing the same thing from the other side. It still didn't make his underlying discomfort go away… the sense of being singled out had followed him through the Monday morning assembly, to the mess hall, and to the classrooms, and hadn't abated overnight.

But everywhere he'd gone, he'd gotten there on his own two feet. His personal sense of freedom was slowly returning.

Nodding a quick hello to a couple of cadets who sometimes joined his Tactics study group, he slipped his PADD into his bag and made his way out of the classroom. He had a half hour before his hand-to-hand class was going to begin. This wasn't the basic level class where he acted as an assistant instructor, but his own advanced class. No, he couldn't participate in any of the contact grappling, throws, and strikes, but he could do the stretches, watch, and learn.

He walked on not-quite-steady legs across the main quad, towards the west side of the main campus, to the massive field house that held all of the athletic facilities, sports and recreation equipment, and physical combat classrooms. Cadets gathered there for everything from old-fashioned games of basketball to Tai Chi in the studios to Parisi Squares matches. Jim grinned to himself, thinking that he really needed to join the next Parisi Squares tournament as soon as they medically released him. And of course, if it were up to Bones, _nobody_ would ever be allowed to play that _foolhardy, reckless, suicidal excuse for a pastime_. Not that he'd ever say so in front of Bones, but his ranting and raving against the game actually made it more appealing.

The cavernous main section of the field house opened up in front of him, and he grinned at the _normalcy _of it all. A few cadets were running laps around the indoor track. A few more were using the exercise mats and resistance training equipment in the middle of the track area. A small group was being led in calisthenic exercises. It was as if the past two weeks hadn't happened. Maybe this was what he needed.

A few minutes later, he'd changed into his fitness training uniform and was ducking into the training studio.

"Kirk!" Cadet Delaney called out, hopping to his feet from where he was stretching on a mat. He was a third-year cadet, and they often matched up together for sparring drills. Decent guy. "I didn't think you'd be coming today. Good to see you. Really good." He reached out and gripped Jim's hand into a hearty handshake. "How are you feeling?"

Jim held back his frustrated sigh at the question he'd been hearing all day, and returned Delaney's handshake. "Not too bad, all things considered. But I can't train today. I just came to do some stretching and to watch the lesson."

"Good plan. You can learn a lot just by watching." He tilted his head back at the mat. "Are you allowed to do the stretches yet?"

Jim nodded. "Modified, but yeah. I'm supposed to do some stretching anyway." He laughed dryly. "I've been sitting still for way too long."

"I'm sure you have," Delaney said with a grin. "I didn't think it was possible for you to sit still."

"It was almost enough to disrupt the space-time continuum." Jim said, going for absolute deadpan sincerity as he started walking towards the stretching mat, and Delaney fell into step next to him. "One of the doctors threatened to tie me down if he found me doing wheelies in the hallway with the wheelchair again."

Delaney glanced at him sideways. "That's one of the great things about you, Kirk. You come up with some of the craziest bluffs, and nobody can tell if you're kidding or not."

"Who said I was bluffing?" In truth, he hadn't actually attempted a wheelie, but he'd suggested it, and Bones had left him no doubt that he'd find himself physically restricted to his bed if he pulled a stunt like that.

Of course, Delaney only laughed, which was what Jim had wanted. It made it easier to shift the topic. "So, what else has been going on around here while I wasn't around to have my say?" he asked as he gingerly settled himself onto the stretching mat and eased himself into a simple hamstring stretch. "Did Commander Lopez review middle-range grappling techniques? Or did you start the section on Brazilian martial arts?"

"We spent most of the past couple of weeks working on –"

"Cadet Kirk."

Jim looked up with a start, then a grin, to see Commander Lopez walking towards him across the training studio. "Good morning, sir!" Delaney was already on his feet to greet their instructor, and Jim almost automatically tried to jump up before he remembered to take it easy. He eased himself sideways and pushed himself gently to his feet. However, when he looked up, Commander Lopez was looking at him critically. "Sir?"

"It's good to see you back in class, Kirk, but I got a note from your doctors that you weren't supposed to be doing any contact physical activity, and no fitness training for the next week, until we get confirmation that you've been cleared."

Jim frowned. "Sir, I'm allowed to do stretching, and I figured I could watch the class and learn from the back of the room. I thought that would be a good idea."

The Commander's critical gaze was matched with a discomfiting measure of concern. "Honestly, Kirk, I'm not sure if that would really be the best thing."

Jim barely managed not to gawk at his instructor. He'd thought – hoped – that the coddling and restrictions would be over now that he was out of the hospital. He'd figured that he'd get to decide for himself what he could and couldn't handle. He hadn't realized that his doctors would have told all of his instructors to restrict him. Although he hadn't planned to push himself too far… _just some stretches_… he figured he'd be allowed to make that call. "I wasn't planning to work on any of the actual fighting skills."

Commander Lopez gave him a thoughtful grin, but shook his head. "Kirk, you finished a sparring competition with a dislocated shoulder last spring, and tested for your certification with a broken hand. I know you, and I don't think you're just going to sit still back here."

Jim cringed, remembering the brutal lecture Bones had given him after _that _little incident with the cracked metacarpals, and once again thanked his lucky stars that Bones had been away for a medical research conference the day of the sparring competition.

The Commander looked at him sympathetically. "Maybe we can re-visit this in a week, but for today… there wouldn't be anything for you to watch anyway. We're running as a class down to the combat course and doing drills there for the next hour."

"Oh." Jim felt something in him deflate. The combat course was a specially designed obstacle course, created to supplement combat training and conditioning. He loved running that course, and Commander Lopez knew it. At the same time, the course was at almost two kilometers from the field house, and the class was running there. They'd leave him in the dust. "I understand, sir. Can I at least finish the warm-up stretches with the class?"

Lopez smiled sympathetically and nodded. "Sure, Cadet." He started to turn to walk over to the next group of cadets who were just walking in the door, but then looked back at Jim. "It really is good to see you back here, Kirk. We just want to make sure you get healed up without pushing yourself too fast. Take the time to recover… and then come back ready to work. And just for that… I promise you can have another crack at sparring me when your doctors clear you."

Jim forced a pleased grin. "Thank you, sir. I'll look forward to it."

"I won't go easy on you."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

The promise of getting to spar with the instructor was a nice little prize, but as he stood by the door of the field house less than ten minutes later, watching his classmates rapidly disappearing down the running path in a tight formation led by Commander Lopez, he couldn't squash the sense of abandonment that welled up. That was followed shortly by uselessness… worthlessness.

He was damaged goods right now – not even capable of running an obstacle course he must have run a hundred times by now. Rationally, he knew that it was a temporary situation, but it didn't do much to take away the sting. Only last year, he was on top of the world. He'd almost felt heroic. Now, he was broken.

Angry at himself for his own self-deprecating thoughts, and just masochistic enough to let himself wallow in them for a bit longer, Jim walked away from the field house, not really sure where he was going. It was a couple of hours before lunch. He was completely caught up in all of his written work and reading, and he couldn't do any practical work. Which meant that he had time to start doing some of his own research.

The thought stopped him cold in his path, and he felt something like a real grin creeping up on him. He could tap the library computers and try to do some cross-referencing Terra Prime's activities. If he did it directly from his PADD, his research could be traced, but he knew how to do his research anonymously on the library computers. Pike knew he could do it, which is why he'd warned him. Or maybe Pike had warned him so that he'd know to cover his own trail. Maybe Pike _wanted _him to investigate. Either way, he couldn't think of any better way to spend two hours just then.

The library was only modestly populated, and Jim endured the greetings and well-wishes from cadets and even a few officers as he made his way to the computer research rooms. A few minutes later, he was ensconced in one of the research rooms, surrounded by the most open-access research technology in the quadrant that was available to anyone with less than an Alpha-Two security clearance.

Even with all that security, it only took him an additional two minutes to re-route the user-identification subroutine through a neutral port so that his access record would vanish as soon as his session ended. Sometimes, he wondered if the trusting nature of Starfleet personnel was one of their greatest weaknesses, or one of their best strengths. It could be both. Maybe he'd write an essay for his ethics class on that topic. Later.

Now, he stretched his arms in front of him, fingers interlaced, and flexed his muscles, noting the aches through his shoulders. Still sore, still broken, but fuck it all – revenge would start here.

"Computer."

"_Working_."

"Access all data modules concerning terrorist organization Terra Prime in which engine technology was sabotaged. Prioritize according to engine systems sabotaged – propulsion first, inertial dampeners second, power couplings third, all other systems of equal importance. Sort by stardate."

"_Working…_" Then the computer beeped a harsh tone that sounded like rubber skidding against plascrete. _"Unable to comply._"

Jim sat up a bit straighter and scowled at the computer screen. "Why the hell not?"

"_All records concerning sabotage of engine systems have been temporarily restricted from open access. Level Alpha-Two security clearance required for access. Please redefine search parameters._"

Jim growled to himself and scrubbed his face with his hand. He _could _bypass some of those security measures, but right now, it might call too much attention to himself if he screwed it up. Especially after he'd already triggered a restricted-materials access warning. "Okay… okay. Computer, access all data modules concerning Terra Prime activities for the past ten years. Prioritize by any events involving sabotage of any technological system, then by any sabotage activities at all. Sort by date."

"_Working._"

Almost instantly, a shockingly short list appeared on the screen. Jim knew all too well that at one point very recently, there had been many more records available at his level of security clearance, so that meant someone had re-classified things only recently. More to his annoyance, he recognized every single report on the list. He'd read them all.

Dejected and angry, Jim quietly reversed his access routes and exited the research program. Two strikes in a row – his hand-to-hand class, and then his severely abbreviated research attempt.

A couple of minutes later, he was back outside the library, staring blankly at the path in front of his feet. Maybe Pike was right. Maybe he should do his school work, focus on healing, and wait for the regular investigation committee to do their work, and let the system do things for him. Of course, every time he'd tried to trust the "system" to do its job, it had been a spectacular failure. He couldn't trust it now.

He followed the path over familiar ground to the walking trails between the main campus and Crissy Field. They wove through the eucalyptus groves – one of the places to which he often went to clear his head. The path also led to the hangar complex of East Campus.

_The hangar, huh?_

Of course. He'd wanted to go down there, and what better place to re-start his investigation?

But then, any evidence from the hangar itself would certainly have been long-removed by the official investigation team. Security would be heightened. The shuttle itself was gone. There were still other resources available down in the hangar complex, but he wasn't sure what might be useful that was also available. And then, he couldn't forget that he'd promised Captain Pike and Bones that he wouldn't go snooping around and investigating.

He shouldn't do it, he knew. But at the same time, he couldn't understand _why_ he shouldn't. Weren't cadets supposed to be inquisitive? As a command-track cadet, wasn't he supposed to learn to use all resources at his disposal and always look for answers? And right now, he had a perspective on the crash and the possible culprit that _nobody _else in Starfleet could possibly have. In fact, it was practically his obligation to start his own investigation.

Feeling a newfound spring in his step despite the aches, Jim grinned to himself as he made his way towards East Campus and, hopefully, answers.

*.&.*

Leonard wasn't a man who was accustomed to feeling like he needed to keep watching over his shoulder, but he found himself doing exactly that more and more often.

Jim was back to classes during the day, and seemed to be coping well enough, to Leonard's relief. He complained about missing practical work and fitness training, but that would come in time, and he seemed to be complaining to vent more than anything else. Normal behavior for Jim Kirk when he didn't have his normal outlets.

Still, life didn't feel normal. It felt like there was a hush over campus. There had been no word from Lieutenant Scott. Despite Jim's outwardly normal behavior, it also felt like he was holding something back. The final straw that tipped Leonard's payload of abnormality came on Tuesday when he showed up for his Basic Engineering and Piloting class, only to find Captain Sullivan, the piloting instructor, standing at the front of the classroom.

Leonard sat down in the back of the teaching lab uneasily as the rest of his classmates filed in. At precisely 1000 hours, Captain Sullivan cleared his throat.

"I know everyone is expecting another two weeks of engineering instruction before we switch over to practical piloting skills, but we've had to change the course itinerary. Lieutenant Scott's skills are currently needed elsewhere. However, as you know, he's been more than thorough, and we feel that the class should be ready to test on the last unit by Thursday."

There was a murmur around the classroom, mostly of excitement. Leonard, however, felt his mood sour instantly. All these young cadets were more than eager to get their asses into real shuttlecrafts. And of course they were all ready to test for the engineering section of the course. But aside from his sudden nerves borne of aviophobia and his very realistic fear of failing the unit exam, Leonard's mind was spinning with theories as to what Scott could possibly be doing right now that he would have to be pulled from teaching the class.

Once more, Leonard wondered if they'd been caught.

At the front of the classroom, Captain Sullivan held up a hand to silence the mumbling from the cadets. "So, today will be a review session. Pull up your notes and let's get started reviewing the basic concepts we might be testing on Thursday."

Leonard knew he needed to pay attention, but by the time the class let out, he was quite certain that he hadn't properly heard a damned thing Captain Sullivan had said. He left the lab and took the stairwell instead of the turbolift… only to run directly into Jim, almost colliding with him on the stairs.

"Goddamn it!" His first reaction was surprise, followed instantly by anger. "Jim, what the hell do you think you're doing climbing stairs?"

Jim, for his part, looked thoroughly shocked as he glanced back over his shoulder, then stammered for a moment before answering, "I thought a bit of exercise would do me some good?"

Normally, Jim could bluff his way out of anything. Leonard, through hard experience, could usually see through it, but in the very least, Jim usually put on a better show than this. Leonard scowled.

"Nice try, smart-ass. No stairs until Thursday." He leaned on the railing and gave Jim a level glare. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to sneak through the building. You don't have any classes down here, Jim. What the hell are you trying to do? And for that matter, don't you have classes all morning on Tuesdays?"

Jim shook his head with a frown of annoyance that Leonard recognized as real. "Usually, I've got my own hand-to-hand training class at this time. Not the one I where I assistant-teach, but the advanced seminar that I'm taking. I showed up and the instructor told me to go do something else." Jim snorted. "He said he knew I would probably violate my medical profile if he let me stay."

"Wise man," Leonard said flatly.

"Yeah, so anyway, I thought I'd come down here and do some studying."

"By sneaking up the staircase?" Leonard said with as much sarcasm as possible, which was apparently enough to make Jim cringe. "Jim, you aren't taking any engineering classes this year – you did that last year. And your piloting work is all practical. So why are you sneaking into the engineering building?"

Jim pressed his lips together tightly before letting out a heavy breath of surrender. "I was going to use the computers in the lab to run a simulation. Or at least… to start designing it. Actually…" He hesitated. "Bones, you've still got the flight recorder data, right? I need to build a computer model of the flight. Can I see your PADD?"

For a moment, Leonard stared blankly at Jim, not quite sure how to answer. If he told Jim that he'd deleted it because he was afraid that he'd been caught, he had no idea how the kid would take it. Would Jim be angry? Paranoid? And for that matter, if Jim was starting to conduct his own investigation, Leonard wasn't so sure he wanted to let him do it alone. He shifted his stance uneasily. "Actually… I'm sorry, Jim, but I deleted it."

Jim's mouth fell open in disbelief. "You _what_? Bones, why the hell would you do that?"

"Shh! Keep it down!" Again, Leonard found himself compulsively glancing back over his shoulder. "Because that asshole of an Admiral who was interrogating you while you were still in the hospital… he might have overheard me while I was re-watching the recording."

Jim frowned. "So?"

"_So? _Jim, think about it! That shit's classified!"

"Oh." Then his face screwed up with determination. "Well, even without it, I think I can design a computer simulation, but I need to use one of the computers in the engineering teaching labs. Those are always open for student use when there's no class going on."

Feeling guilty for reasons he couldn't quite pin down, Leonard shook his head. "I hate to break it to you kid, but I tried that. They've put more security measures in place lately. No access to the teaching labs without an officer present."

"You've got to be kidding me," Jim groaned. "Great. Just fucking great. So what am I supposed to do? Sit and wait around for a bunch of self-important, obnoxious flag officers to figure out what caused the crash on their own time?"

Leonard bit his lower lip for a second. Maybe this was the wrong thing to tell Jim, but he'd promised the kid that they'd research this together. "Maybe not. Listen, I've been talking with someone who has access to some information. One of my instructors."

Jim's eyes went wide. "Wait, you're worried about classified files on your PADD, but you're working with one of the _faculty_? And you think _I'm_ pushing _my _luck?"

"I think we can trust this guy, Jim. He's the guy who I've been seeing for tutoring sessions."

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "I hope you know what you're doing, Bones."

Leonard looked at Jim for a long moment, then sighed. "So do I, kid. So do I. But for now… I know it's a bit early, but what do you think about grabbing some lunch?"

Jim gave a resigned nod. "Sure. Why not?"

"Good. I've got clinic this afternoon, and probably won't get anything else to eat until I get back to the dorm." Leonard adjusted the shoulder strap of his messenger bag, and started walking slowly down the stairs, keeping a close eye on how Jim was moving. They exited through the side door of the building into the cold wind. "Where would you like to eat? I'd suggest the Warming Hut, seeing as we're not too far from there, but I don't think –"

He was cut off by an insistent beeping from his messenger bag. Grumbling, Leonard pulled his PADD out and tapped the screen. Then he froze. Felt some of the blood drain from his face.

"Bones?" Jim asked hesitantly. "Hey, what's going on?"

Leonard read through the brief memo again. He'd almost expected this, but seeing it made his nerves jolt. Swallowing thickly, he the PADD again, deactivating it, then slowly looked up at Jim.

"Bones?"

"I've been called before a formal board of inquiry." The jolt of nerves congealed into a clammy chill in his stomach.

"Shit... for what?" Before Leonard could respond, a now-familiar look of fear overtook Jim's expression. "It's not about the crash, is it? They're not calling you as a witness for the investigation, are they? _Fuck_... if they know you've seen the holovid feed –"

The coldness oozed lower into his gut. "No, Jim. And it's not... not... it's something else."

"Come on, man... tell me?"

For a moment, Leonard considered not telling Jim, but it wouldn't change anything. He let out a heavy breath. "A medical malpractice case."

"What?" Jim pushed as much incredulity as he could into the question. "You? Malpractice? That's bullshit, Bones."

But Leonard just shook his head, jaw clenched. "Look, I need to go."

Jim flashed his best facsimile of an encouraging smile; jovial, careless. "Sure. We'll do lunch another day. You'll be fine, Bones. Just scowl at them, and they won't be able to hold up against the power of your eyebrows of doom."

Leonard snorted in exasperation, but he had to admit, Jim's teasing did help loosen the nerves. A little bit, anyway.

"See? Just like that. Whatever it is... you're a great doctor, Bones. I've seen you sit up until all hours trying to solve medical mysteries and do your research. Malpractice? I'll bet you just had some outburst of raw genius and the brass can't keep up with your brilliance."

"That's you, you high-speed wise-ass. I'm just a doctor." He let his shoulders slump. "And the same rules apply to me as to every other idiot with a medical license."

"Well, was the patient okay?"

Leonard froze again, staring straight ahead. For several seconds, he couldn't bring himself to even look at Jim. Finally, he swallowed tightly and said, "I hope so."

"Well, if you had a hand in it, then he... or she... will be." Jim's words were full of conviction. "The board will rule in your favor."

"You can't know that, Jim." And Leonard couldn't bring himself to tell Jim exactly why there was no way to know that. Not for this. Not now.

"No, but I'd stake my life on it. On you." He flashed another reassuring look. "That's gotta count for something."

Instead of feeling reassured, though, Doctor Leonard McCoy felt as though something inside of him had broken and crumbled in on itself. Before Jim could say anything, however, he nodded blankly. "It does, Jim. I'd stake my life on you, too. I'll see you when I get back."

"Okay, Bones."

Leonard nodded grimly. "Oh, and you take the campus transport back to main campus. You'd better not be running around on the trails, you reckless daredevil."

"Okay." The concerned look on Jim's face – concern for _him _– was almost too much.

With another nod, Leonard turned and hurried off towards the transport shuttle pad out in front of the hangar. He had no time to waste.

*.&.*

They could have at _least _given him a goddamned warning.

Leonard's shoulders were as tight as his fists as he stalked across the quad to the medical research labs. He'd barely been able to unclench either since he boarded the intercampus shuttle to the medical campus, all but running to the administrative offices. They'd given him only twenty minutes to get there, and he'd needed seventeen of them, including a hurried stop at the restroom. He was ushered into the board room just in time to see his jury of superiors line up at the table, seated comfortably while he stood for an hour and a half, trying not to shake with some combination of fear and fury.

They'd sat there with their obnoxious placidity, reading off the record from his trauma ward treatment of Jim Kirk as if it were the careless, stupid floundering of a second-year med student. They'd picked apart everything, dissected every action and decision, and nodded neutrally as he'd given his rationales for each item on their list of accusations. Nobody had tipped their hand; nobody given him a clue was to what they were thinking. It had been maddening.

He'd thought that as doctors, they'd have understood why he'd done what he'd done. And maybe, behind the panel of poker faces, which was part of the whole game in any board of inquiry, they did understand. Maybe sympathized with him. Maybe even supported his decision. But even if they did, he hadn't caught a hint of it. And if they didn't… goddammit, how the hell could they _not_?

In front of the board, Leonard had felt as if his expertise and research counted for nothing. It was as if they thought he had been treating Jim like an experiment instead of desperately trying to save a patient whose chances were slim and getting narrower by the minute.

And Jim had survived. Goddammit, he was alive and recovering. In fact, he was recovering faster than expected and was already back to classes less than two weeks after he'd almost died. That had to count for something!

"_I'd stake my life on it. On you. That's gotta count for something._"

Jim's words echoed in his mind, and Leonard wondered if Jim would really think so if he knew... if he really knew that he _had _staked his life on it. Without warning, and without consent. Wondered how Jim would have reacted if he'd let the kid know that the review board was because of his case. He couldn't let Jim know; he already had far too much on his plate. Leonard, on the other hand, had just found his plate heaped with seconds, and he hoped to hell there wasn't going to be thirds.

His thoughts blended with the furious rush of blood in his ears, and the too-fast breaths that were keeping pace with his too-fast footsteps. Yeah, it counted for something. Now, if only the admirals of Starfleet Medical thought so.

He'd left the boardroom just minutes ago, leaving the leadership of Starfleet Medical's research program behind, but their damning words clung to him like a dark stain. The board hadn't ruled yet. No, that would be too easy - delivering the killing blow in one clean strike. Instead, they were going to _deliberate_, as they'd put it, and he'd get to sweat it out while they toyed with his future. They might take away his privileges as a staff doctor, sending him back to school as a regular cadet at the Medical Academy, despite his degree. They could place him on academic suspension, preventing him from doing any practical work, even as an assistant, until they cleared him again. But at the end of the day, as in any medial investigation board, Leonard knew what was really at stake - his medical license.

Sure, it was a slim chance, but it was possible. If they took his license away, he might be allowed to re-test for it in a year or two, depending on the severity of the decision. Or... he could lose everything. His appointment as a Starfleet Cadet, his chance to restart his career, his entire future... all gone. It was an extreme outcome, but it was possible. For now, he was still a licensed physician. And his patient _had_ lived, and had an excellent prognosis for recovery. That _did _count for something.

But in the meantime, at the very least, Doctor Leonard H. McCoy was no longer the head of a research project.

They weren't _stopping_ his research project, so they'd said. They were _suspending _it until further information could be analyzed. He knew what that meant - they wanted to see how well the devices had worked on Jim. They'd already reviewed his study data, the early neural scans, and the medical reports from Jim's stay at Starfleet Medical, so all that remained to be seen was the overall progress of Jim's recovery. And he'd be damned if he was going to let himself start hoping for Jim's recovery for something so greedy, so selfish, so... so...

_Goddammit, Jim.  
_  
No, he wanted to see Jim hale and whole for no other reason than the fact that this was his best friend, and that's all there was to it. And there was no way in heaven or hell that he was going to burden Jim with this on top of everything else. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell the kid when he got back to his dorm room that night, but he'd think of something. He'd have plenty of time to think on it.

His clinic shift had been canceled for the afternoon. They'd found a resident to substitute for him. In the meantime, he had another grim duty to handle.

Leonard's footsteps took him back across the quad from the admin offices to the research lab building opposite the main Medical complex. The halls were fairly quiet - it was still lunchtime. His lab would be even more quiet, as all of the other researchers from his team would have been sent notifications not to return to the lab. However, his equipment was there.

_Not my equipment_, he thought bitterly as he pressed his thumb to the access pad and stepped into the deserted laboratory. _Starfleet's equipment._

At the engineering bench, construction work was in various stages of completion on different prototypes, a task left to the hands of the two nano-electronics and EM field engineers on the team. They were damned good at their work, and he was sure they'd get assigned to another research project. The demise of this project wouldn't destroy their academic tracks.

On the other side of the lab, the stasis units held living artificial tissue samples for testing the devices – fake brain and vascular tissue that could be damaged and rebuilt again and again, allowing them to test the devices under as many circumstances as possible before ever applying them to a sentient being.

_Oh God... Jim._

Leonard scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to scour away the image of his devices attached to Jim's blood-smeared forehead. He'd spent the last hour and a half combing through the details of that horrific morning, and he had to stop dwelling on it. Now, he had work to do.

With a determined huff, Leonard grabbed a box from a shelf and slowly, methodically, began making his way around the lab, gathering every prototype device they had at every stage of development, packaging it neatly, and placing it in the box. As he worked, a cruel sense of deja-vu crept up on him, and he realized it felt like the days following his father's funeral, when he'd gone through the man's rooms and gathered up the things his mother had sworn she couldn't bear to see anymore. And when Leonard had finished that task, she'd informed him that he was on the list, too.

She didn't blame him, oh no, but it was too painful, she'd said. He looked so much like his father, and although he'd done everything right, his mother just couldn't handle it.

So now, he was killing his project, burying his research, and he hoped Starfleet wouldn't cast him aside, too. He hoped that Jim would still be able to look at him when it was all over... if he ever found out.

His motions became stiff and robotic, unthinking and automatic as he moved from station to station, clearing out months of work. He couldn't think about the chance that the project might really be killed. This concept was too valuable to be discarded. Just because of his own mistake – _and I wouldn't call it a goddamned mistake –_ would the administration really scrap such a valuable piece of research? What the hell could possibly make doctors want to put aside something that could save lives and...

And Leonard stopped mid-motion, and dropped the device from his hand, letting it clatter to the benchtop.

It was paranoid, but now he was wondering about the timing of it all. With that admiral who had interrogated Jim… he'd certainly pissed the guy off by ordering him and the captain out of the room. And then, if the admiral had figured out what he'd been looking at on his PADD that day in the Warming Hut, it was possible that he'd used the weight of his rank to push the investigation to a new level of vitriol.

Yes, any breech of medical research protocol would require an investigation, but he'd witnessed other protocol investigations before, and they'd been _nothing_ like this brutal gauntlet of questions and glaring judgment he'd faced today. Granted, this was Starfleet Medical. He was playing with the big boys now, and maybe they played a tougher hand. At the same time, his colleagues at Starfleet Medical had seemed more congenial and team-like than at any other medical institution where he'd worked. The tone of this whole mess seemed so stark and unexpected. Would someone, maybe that admiral, have really pushed to have such a formal board of inquiry launched… to get him to be quiet? Like a warning shot from an unseen sniper: _I could shoot to warn, maim, or kill. Your move.  
_  
His record in Starfleet thus far had been excellent, and far beyond the call of duty for a mere cadet. Then, two days after an irritable flag officer had possibly caught him with classified material… and after he'd shown that material to another officer that he didn't know all that well and who hadn't returned his communiqués… after his best friend had possibly been targeted by someone bent on murder…

No, that all sounded far too insane. Jim's paranoia could be explained away by a nasty head injury, but Leonard had no such excuse. But then again, this was all starting to seem like a bit more than anything sane had a right to be.

Leonard shook his head incredulously in the empty room. He had no idea what to make of all this. And that scared him.

But for now, he could only handle one thing – his order to clear out all of his devices and research equipment and turn it over to the administration directly.

Working faster now, he grabbed the last few pieces of equipment and stuffed them into the box. He stormed out of the lab, hugging the box tightly to himself, knowing that he'd have to give it up to the Administration in just a few short minutes, but refusing to believe that they'd really kill the project. It was too valuable. It could save lives. Goddammit, it already _had _saved a life! And it would save more lives.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to fight them today, but he'd win this one. He had to.

*.&.*

Leonard could have gone back to his dorm room. With his clinic shift canceled for the day, and the afternoon getting older by the minute, he didn't have any other place he needed to be. However, there was a good chance Jim would be there – _And he should be_, Leonard thought critically – and at the moment, he couldn't handle people.

More specifically, he didn't know how he'd look at Jim. With the details of the medical review so fresh in his mind, he couldn't stop seeing Jim's blood-covered face on the trauma room table, with those goddamned experimental devices attached to his head.

That image was the the last straw… perched atop the whole cascade of insanity that seemed to have inundated his life in just a few short weeks. One Wednesday morning, he'd awoken after an interrupted night of sleep, drunk his coffee, and gone to Starfleet Medical for a normal, boring, uneventful ER shift. And everything had gone to hell in a fucking handbasket.

So when he climbed off the shuttle back on the Academy campus, instead of going back to his dorm room, Leonard walked in the other direction. Despite having no real appetite, he grabbed a sandwich from the campus café and ate it absently as he walked. He made it about halfway through before he couldn't stomach any more food and tossed it in a reprocessor unit.

He walked the length of the main campus towards the bridge, then turned right, down the long trail through the eucalyptus groves to East Campus. Jim loved those trees.

Good God, everything reminded him of Jim.

It wasn't that Leonard meant to end up back on the pier by design, but eventually, he found himself in a familiar position, with his legs dangling over the side of the pier as he stared at the Golden Gate Bridge through the fog. He seemed to end up there when he needed to think, and in this sort of weather, there was a damned good chance that nobody would be around to pester him.

To be fully honest, it was fucking freezing as the wind off the bay cut straight through his jacket and chilled him to the bone. At the same time, he didn't resent it. He almost felt that he deserved it.

So stupid. So careless. And so many unknowns.

He had no idea how the board of inquiry would rule on his usage of his neurovascular regen units. He had no way to know if a pissed-off admiral had pushed the medical board or not. He had no idea whether Lieutenant Scott had been caught, had given up, or had proven untrustworthy.

There was no way to tell how well Jim would recover, although he seemed to be mostly okay… for now… today… at the moment. He didn't know who had caused the crash. And to top it all off, Leonard had no goddamned idea how to keep going with his own investigation.

All he knew was that he was in way over his head.

"You know… I thought I'd need to warn Kirk to stay out of this sort of shit, but I hadn't expected it out of you."

Leonard looked up in surprise to see Captain Pike standing there, arms folded across his chest, wearing a scornful and exasperated expression. He swallowed thickly. "I hadn't actually planned to get into this sort of shit." He started moving to stand up, but Pike waved him off, then settled himself on the edge of the pier next to Leonard.

"Now isn't this familiar," Pike said dryly.

"Like old times," Leonard replied. "But if you'll forgive me for asking, Captain, which particular pile of shit are we talking about here?"

"Oh, how about we just summarize it into sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Leonard grimaced. "So I'm not going to get another lecture about medical research regulations and protocols?"

Pike shook his head. "Not from me."

Leonard nodded warily. "Thank God for small favors. I've had enough of that today."

"I figured as much. And for what little it's worth, I'd remind them that you kept one of my cadets alive when, by all rights, he should be dead. I'm not a doctor, and I don't work for Starfleet Medical, but as far as I'm concerned, any doctor who keeps his patient alive has done right by my book."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence. I wish it were that simple."

"Nothing's ever simple."

"Ain't that the truth," Leonard grumbled, staring out across the waters of the bay. He heard Pike sigh next to him.

"And that would be the problem."

Leonard turned his head towards Pike so fast that his neck twinged and his eyes watered. He blinked a few times, waiting for Pike to explain, but the Captain seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move. "So… you've told me once that you don't seek out cadets on their personal time without a good reason. If you don't mind me cutting to the chase, sir, what am I on the hook for?"

Pike gave him a neutral look, open to any interpretation. "What do you think you're on the hook for?"

Quickly, Leonard bit his lip. If he admitted his investigation activities aloud, and Pike didn't already know, then as an officer, he might end up bound by duty to report Leonard officially. But dammit, Pike seemed to know everything that happened on the campus anyway. He had to know already. "I didn't access any classified material," he said defensively.

"I know you didn't. And… let me make a few guesses here. Stop me if I'm wrong. You managed to delete the information you had, which was not classified when you received it, before anyone could trace your PADD."

"I may or may not have deleted information that I may or may not have had."

"Right." Pike looked him over appraisingly for a moment. "You've wanted to use the teaching lab computers to see if you could figure anything out, but you couldn't get in because of the new security protocols."

Leonard almost felt his eyes widen, but he was pretty sure he caught himself in time. He knew exactly which incident Pike was talking about, and he should have realized that the security systems would have recorded every attempted access. "I had a tutoring session," he said flatly. "For my required basic engineering class. My tutor just happened to miss that session, and I only got a message from him later." It was a lie; Scott hadn't contacted him once since then. "Besides, how could I figure out the details of a shuttle crash when I need help passing Engineering-for-idiots?"

As soon as he saw the look of realization on Pike's face, Leonard knew he'd made a mistake. Pike nodded slowly. "Then who did you ask to help you?" he asked evenly.

"Nobody."

Pike sighed and shook his head. "Don't ever play poker when you're emotionally invested, McCoy. You'd lose all your credits and come home in nothing but your skivvies." He leaned heavily on his knees, looking out over the bay. "I'm not here to get you in trouble. I don't need you to answer those questions. I just needed to see how you'd respond."

This time, Leonard's eyes did widen, and he stared at Pike's profile in both irritation and disbelief. "You were testing me?"

"I needed to know how you'd react to being put on the spot… when people start to play political games with you… when they start asking questions." He turned back towards Leonard and gave him an appraising look for several long seconds. "You strike me as a man who hates politics."

"Gee, brilliant assessment, Captain." He spoke defensively, but Leonard felt something in his gut tighten.

Pike watched him carefully for another moment before continuing. "Space exploration and peacekeeping activities are only half of Starfleet," he said, his tone difficult to decipher. "The other half is politics. If you're lucky, you manage to avoid politics until you get a few stripes on your sleeves, but eventually, it catches up with you."

"I'm a doctor, not a diplomat," Leonard growled. "I don't give a crap about Starfleet politics."

"I know you don't." Pike's voice was plaintive now. "And I respect that about you. I wish more people in this organization thought like that. But that's why I'm trying to tell you… it's gonna get rough. It's already rough, but McCoy... you're right - you're not a diplomat. You've already made a few missteps when you didn't even need to go down that path in the first place. If you keep up like this, you're going to be in so deep that you won't realize you're drowning in it until you are."

"I can handle it," Leonard said, trying to ignore the tension building in his neck and temples.

"Can you now? Like you handled your own truncated investigation? After today's hearing has put your research project on the line, and have left you sitting on an ancient pier in seven degree temperatures and miserable wind?"

Leonard hesitated, but that was apparently all the confirmation Pike needed, as he began to nod knowingly. Leonard scowled. "So what if they have? And so what if I did try to investigate? Wouldn't you have gone looking for answers if you were in my shoes?"

Pike nodded. "Yes, I would have... when I was a cadet, and new to the system, and didn't realize how messy it could get. And I wouldn't have been ready for what I'd find."

"Find what? Answers?"

"Trouble, son. A world of trouble. And politics." He clenched his jaw and shook his head. "Your board hearing this morning had some _interference_. The JAG office has already stepped in, and the rest of the investigation for that should be… proper."

"That's good to hear," Leonard said tersely.

Pike pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, seeming to consider his words before he spoke. "McCoy, I respect you, but right now, you're about to make things awfully hard for yourself if you go poking around any more than you already have. I can't tell you what's going on with the investigation, but I can tell you that some pretty powerful folks – civilian and Starfleet – are watching this whole mess really closely. You _don't _want to get involved in this."

"Sir, with all due respect, I've been involved since the instant my best friend's shuttle took a nose-dive towards a cold, dead planet."

"I know, McCoy. I know. But you need to pull back from this." He twisted slightly so that he was facing Leonard more directly. "People like you... like Kirk... you're good at everything a military organization can throw at you... damned good... except shutting up and doing what you're told."

"That's what I'm supposed to do?" Leonard asked in disbelief.

"Sometimes, yes. Starfleet requires discipline for a reason. It's so that when crews go out into the black, we have a better chance of them coming home alive. You may not like it, and I may not even like it on occasion, but sometimes, _classified_ means _classified_."

Leonard felt himself bristle. "Oh, so this is the sage wisdom passed down from on high, is it?"

"Maybe," Pike said slowly, his voice hard as titanium, "I'm telling you this because I learned the hard way once... or twice... myself. It's a sign of someone who has the makings of a great officer, McCoy... but also of someone who's in for a tough road to get there if they don't learn how to play the game. You're already slipping down that road, son. I want you to get back on course before it gets worse for you… and for Kirk."

Leonard stared back at Pike for several long seconds, desperately trying to find something to say… some argument… and failing.

God damn him, but Pike was right. Obnoxiously, horribly right. On some gut level, he'd known all along that he was playing with fire, but now he couldn't even pretend otherwise. Pike had confirmed that someone had pried into his review board hearing today. If someone who had nothing to do with Starfleet Medical had that long of a reach, then this was bigger than he had anticipated, and he'd be wise to stay the hell out of it.

But at the same time as it was so painfully obvious that he needed to back down and toe the line for a while, the political slap across the face was an insult, daring him to keep pushing for answers. Elusive answers that he had no hope of finding without help. Just as elusive as this political bullshit Pike was hinting at but was probably unable to reveal.

It was like staring at a shuttle engine diagram: a mess of tangled information that was far beyond his comfort zone. No, on second thought, this was worse. At least with the engine schematics, there was some logic to it, and eventually, Leonard could figure it out. He was a scientist, at the core of it all. Although he'd been accused of letting his emotions run away with him in the past, he could understand rationality and logic. Even shuttlecraft engines were logical.

He couldn't understand politics.

"What do you say, McCoy?"

"I'm thinking."

Yeah, Pike was right - he didn't know a damn thing about politics, but he sure as hell knew a thing or two about self-preservation. Hard-learned lessons, some of them. He just might have to change his game. Maybe learn to keep his mouth shut and his head down like Pike had suggested. Play along and not piss anyone off. And maybe even – _forgive me for this, Jim _– back off on the investigation.

He had three things at stake now: his project, his career, and his solemn oath to help Jim solve this mystery.

And sometimes, he thought bitterly, you have to sacrifice a limb to save the patient.

_You can't have it all_.

But he could sure try to save as much of that limb as possible. Even if that meant swallowing some of his pride in the process. Someone wanted him to be quiet? That might be a bit of a stretch… but he knew how to react to a warning shot. It was time to lie low.

"Okay."

Pike raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay?"

Leonard heaved a sigh and let his shoulders slump in a show of defeat. "Yeah. Okay. Sir. I'll back off."

Pike nodded, but he didn't quite look happy. Instead, he looked like a man who had fulfilled a grim duty successfully. He'd had to do it, but that didn't mean he had to like it. But he merely said, "I'm glad to hear it. But McCoy?"

"Yes, sir?"

Pike hesitated, and for just a split second, glanced from side to side as if checking over his own shoulder, then said, "Just because you're keeping yourself out of trouble… that doesn't mean you can't keep your eyes open."

Leonard felt a smile slowly creep across his face. "Understood, sir."

"Good to know. And now –" He pulled his feet back up onto the pier and stood quickly. "– it's freezing out here like a bad day on Delta Vega. I thought you were from Georgia."

Leonard stood alongside him. "I am."

Pike shook his head at him in incredulity. "Aren't you freezing?" he asked as they began walking back towards the shore.

"Yeah." He grimaced at himself, noting that his lips were starting to feel numb. "Sometimes, cryotherapy is just another way to numb the pain."

*.&.*


	11. Chapter 11

**NOTES:** Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans who are reading this, and... happy Friday to everyone else. Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. When I say that Real Life is kicking my ass, I'm not kidding. I've been slammed. Full time work, part time school, and I'm still working on recovering from knee surgery. Well, my knee is doing a lot better, and I have a long weekend, so I had enough time to edit this chapter and send it your way. I hope you enjoy it! And again, sorry for the delay.

*.&.*

Jim was on his feet before Bones had fully stepped through the door of his dorm room, and immediately regretted the rapid movement. "Hey Bones," he said with a grunt, trying to look casual as he shifted his weight gingerly. "I figured you'd have been back by now."

"I was busy. And dammit, Jim, you either skipped your pain meds or overdid it today, and I don't know which would piss me off more," he grumbled as he hung his pea coat on the hook by the door.

Jim rolled his eyes. "I took my meds, Bones. And I'm sore because I've actually been, you know, _moving _today. Under my own power. It's normal to be sore." He walked stiffly over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, leaning on the table.

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." He didn't seem convinced.

"Bones, are your lips _blue_? And I don't mean good-blue like an Andorian."

"It's just goddamned freezing out there. I forgot my parka."

"Does that mean you'll stop getting on my case about me forgetting mine?" Jim asked hopefully.

"Not a chance." He dumped his bag on the table and fished out his medkit, grabbing his tricorder. "Hold still."

Jim groaned. "Come on, Bones! Seriously?"

"Your other option was daily check-ins at the infirmary."

"Maybe you should check in with the infirmary. You're shivering."

"Thank you for that assessment, Doctor Kirk." Bones stared at the screen of the tricorder with his usual critical scowl.

"See anything you like?" Jim asked sarcastically, trying not to squirm.

"You've got more inflammation than you should have in your pelvis. How much walking did you do today?"

"I had to get to class!"

"And to East Campus, too, right?"

Jim pressed his lips together. "I took the shuttle back. Besides, I know what you're doing right now. I did pass the mandatory psych class last spring. I believe they call this 'deflecting.' Did you walk all the way back from Starfleet Medical? And what the hell happened earlier with the board of inquiry?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Jim." Bones popped the tricorder probe back into its slot and tucked the whole device back into the medkit. In his next move, he'd pulled out a hypospray and snapped a vial into it.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Bones, what the hell is tha – _ouch_!"

"Anti-inflammatory, you big baby. If you hadn't been walking all over campus, the pills would have been enough. Use the damned campus shuttle for longer distances for the next two days."

Jim blew out an exasperated breath. "Yes, _doctor_. Now come on, Bones. You're crankier than usual. Tell me what happened."

Bones dropped the hypospray back into his med kit and tossed the spent cartridge into the reprocessor, then went straight for the fridge, burying his face inside it as he rummaged through the sparse supplies. "It was a miserable hour and a half of being indirectly told that I'm inept and incompetent, and I just want to have dinner, do some studying, and get to bed early."

"Wait… they found you guilty? Or… uh… that it was malpractice?"

Bones stood back from the fridge holding sandwich fixings. "No. Not yet." He grimaced. "They're _deliberating_. The bastards."

"Shit."

"Yeah." He dumped the sandwich supplies on the countertop, and fell silent as he began assembling his dinner.

Normally, silence between them was never an issue. Either they were talking, or they weren't – not a big deal. This time, however, Jim felt the pressure of an uncomfortable pause, and felt the desperate need to fill it.

"I got my score back on the Klingon history essay I wrote while I was stuck at Starfleet Medical. Apparently boredom is good for my grades."

"Your grades are always impeccable, Jim." Silence again. Then a few electronic beeps as Bones requisitioned a drink from the food slot. A moment later, Jim's nose told him that it was a cup of hot tea – something Bones only drank when he felt like shit but wasn't up for booze. Still, the silence still hung thickly in the air.

"The Xenolinguistics Club met this afternoon. Uhura was almost nice to me. I figure, if I'm lucky, it'll last two weeks. Maybe I can even use this to get her to spill her first name. One good thing out of this whole mess, right?"

Bones grunted in reply.

Jim licked his lower lip, wondering why the hell he felt like he couldn't leave it alone. "I had lunch with Thaleb and Freeman… the guys from my flight squad. They're doing pretty well. We won't get to go back in the air as a squad until next week, though. The Academy shrink feels that our team needs time to adjust. At least, that's what they're saying."

Bones grumbled under his breath as he topped his sandwich with the second slice of bread, cut it on the diagonal, and carried the plate over to the table with his cup of tea. He sat without a word and started eating.

Jim sighed. "Listen, I know when you're burned out from a bad day, and you're coming off a bad couple of weeks. I can go back to my dorm room and give you some privacy. Quiet time."

Swallowing his bite of sandwich, Bones glanced sideways at Jim with a look of resignation. "Jim, you don't need to leave. And you're not supposed to leave. I told you – you're here for the week. Just…" He chuckled, but it wasn't a cheerful sound. "You're a goddamned beehive of nervous energy. You've got no outlet for that. I understand. I can't wait until you're cleared for fitness training again. But for fuck's sake, Jim… I'm exhausted. Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Jim nodded warily, then leaned on his elbows. Bones went back to eating, and after a minute, Jim pulled an apple from the fruit bowl that Bones kept on the table and started munching it sullenly. He often joked that Bones was the epitome of domestication for keeping a fruit bowl, but it was one of those things that oddly defined his friend. And he was pretty sure that Bones kept the apples in there because he knew it was a guaranteed way to make sure that Jim ate some fresh fruit.

He was halfway through his apple when Bones finally spoke. "They've suspended my research project."

Jim dropped his hand to the table, bruising the uneaten side of his apple. "_What_? Please tell me you're kidding me."

Bones was staring at his tea cup, wrapped tightly in his hands as if he was trying to warm them. "Wish I was."

"Why the fuck would they do that?"

Bones took a sip of his tea. "Probably because the project I'm leading is pretty high-caliber, and I'm currently under investigation."

Jim stared at Bones, blinking in disbelief. "What about your duties at Starfleet Medical?"

The cold scowl turned darker. "I'm going to work a few shifts at the Academy infirmary."

"No way." Bones had been so proud – authentically happy with himself – when he got promoted as a cadet to status as a Starfleet physician. "That's complete bullshit."

But Bones shook his head, waving him off. "It's okay, Jim. Just filling in for a few shifts. They need someone to cover for one of the infirmary doctors who's going on family leave… just for a little while anyway. And it's fine by me. I've spent too much time at the Starfleet Medical ER." It didn't look exactly fine by him, but Jim wasn't about to argue.

"It'll turn out okay, Bones."

At that, Bones turned towards him sharply, a surprised eyebrow raised in inquiry, then lowered in skepticism. "I don't need comforting, Jim."

"Who said I was comforting anyone? I'm just telling you like it is. I know it'll be fine."

For a long moment, Bones stared at him blankly, and then something in his cold façade seemed to melt, just a bit. His shoulders slumped, and he folded his arms in front of him on the table. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I just know these things. I am the great and powerful Oz."

Bones snorted. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

Jim looked at Bones in amazement. "You actually got one of my old film references! Bones! I'm impressed!"

Shaking his head in mock-disbelief, Bones took another slow sip of his tea. "Come on, Jim. I'm not completely inept when it comes to old pop culture. I'm just not a goddamned walking encyclopedia like some people around here, with more brains than sense."

"I've got brains and looks. I keep you around for the common sense."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Nice to know I'm good for something." Then the hint of humor disappeared from his face, and he leaned over the table, catching Jim with a dead-serious stare. "So if that's what you keep me around for, then listen… what you did this morning… snooping around… you've got to stop."

Jim stared at Bones for a moment, trying to see the inevitable crack in the guy's shell. The man was an amateur at the art of bluffing, and Jim had known him long enough to be able to read him. But after several seconds, without any hint of a crack, Jim felt his own jaw drop. "You're not kidding." It wasn't a question.

"No, Jim. I'm not."

"Bones…. I… I wasn't _snooping_. Fuck it, I'm trying to find out why my teammate was killed. _How _my teammate was killed. Why I almost ended up as nothing more than a vapor trail caught in the gravity well of Mars! And Bones – I don't trust the investigation team to get it right!"

Still straight-faced as a Vulcan, Bones just stared back at him. "I don't either, kid. But… it's complicated."

Jim slapped a hand down on the table in mock-hilarity with a false chuckle. "Complicated. Of course, it's complicated. Someone went out of his way to break through multiple layers of Starfleet security to sabotage my shuttle, kill my teammate, and almost kill me. Did you expect it to be simple?"

"No. But…" He sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand, still clinging to his tea mug with the other hand. "Listen, Jim… the flight recording is gone. The engineering labs are on lockdown unless we're supervised. The one guy who might have been able to help me get some information… I haven't heard from him. Dunno what happened. And then… that wasn't the usual sort of medical review board I faced this afternoon, Jim. Someone knows I've been fishing."

Jim felt his mouth drop open. "Wait, are you saying that someone within upper the ranks in Starfleet might be connected to the crash? Bones… there could be a Terra Prime sympathizer here at the Academy." In a heartbeat, the veneer of safety provided by the perimeter of the Academy campus seemed to crack and peel away. If the leadership was corrupted, anything was possible. "I tried to do some research at the library before I went down to East Campus, and most of the records on Terra Prime – things that had been public last year – were locked down. They've got to be hiding something, Bones! Shit, if they're trying to keep us from knowing the truth –"

"Jim, you need to stop that! No, just listen for a moment. They're conducting an official investigation, and it's classified. That's all there is to it."

"But you just said you don't trust –"

"I don't trust them." He let out a heavy breath, then shivered. "But sometimes, we don't get a choice in the matter. We're cadets, Jim. And sometimes, that means we shut up and do what we're told."

Jim glared at him. "I never thought I'd hear that out of you."

Bones glared right back. "I never thought I'd have to put my best friend's body back together because he slammed into the side of a planet."

And just like that, Jim felt some vital part of his defense crack. "Bones…"

"Jim… just for now, keep your head down and just leave it alone. Just… focus on classwork, and recovering."

"You sound like Pike," Jim said, not caring that he sounded ludicrously sullen.

Bones raised an eyebrow. "I'm not surprised," he said flatly. "The man gives good advice… even when none of us want to take it."

Jim was just about to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but Bones was already getting to his feet with a groan. Jim stayed in his seat, staring at his hands on the table in front of him, listening to the shuffling sounds of Bones lumbering over to his dresser. He was just realizing how much of a headache he'd developed since Bones had gotten home. _No great surprise there_.

He half-listened to the sounds of Bones changing into pajamas, tossing his uniform into the refresher unit, and placing his shoes by the door. Familiar sounds that would be soothing, but his head ached, and he was somewhere between devastated and furious. Most disturbingly, he had no idea where to direct those emotions. So, he continued to sit there, glaring daggers at his own hands on the surface of the table, and wondering what the fuck he was going to do next.

"You could try getting some sleep. That's my plan."

Jim looked up, blinking his eyes and finding that the room looked a bit soft around the edges. "What?"

"What you're going to do next. I'd suggest getting some sleep."

Jim frowned. "Oh. I said that out loud."

Bones was in front of him in a heartbeat. "You okay, kid?"

"No, Bones. Why the hell would I be okay right now?"

Bones looked at him for a moment, lips pressed together plaintively, then he reached out a hand and rested it gently on his shoulder. "I understand, Jim. But there's not much we can do now. I'm too tired and distracted to study, and I've got a late clinic shift tomorrow night because someone else covered my shift today. I need some sleep, and so do you. So come on." He dropped his hand from Jim's shoulder and held it out. "Let's get you out of the hip brace and into bed."

Jim wanted to brush him off, tell him to stop fussing, and to leave him alone with his swirling thoughts and directionless anger. Instead, the ache behind his temples and the fuzzy edges in his vision were enough to let him know that it wasn't time to fight. Not now, anyway. He'd save that for later. He'd find another way to keep his promise to Tambe, and to himself.

But for now, sleep sounded like a good plan. He reluctantly clasped Bones' outstretched hand. "Okay."

*.&.*

It was Friday afternoon, and the Academy infirmary was quiet. Aside from a dislocated shoulder from some idiot cadet playing Parisi Squares – _I swear, that godforsaken game injures more cadets than hand-to-hand, fitness training, and the Academy's damned survival school combined –_ there hadn't been any activity in the clinic. Really, he could use the quiet. Even with his resignation over ceasing his own personal investigation, and with Jim's concession to the same, he was a bit overwhelmed at the moment.

Jim was usually tough, capable, and mentally adaptable. Not many people could have gone through the shit he'd experienced and not have fallen to pieces. But still, the kid had been through a lot, and the last thing he needed was more shit piled on top of it all. Some things, Jim didn't need to know.

Didn't need to know that the man who had been helping Leonard investigate the crash hadn't contacted him once. Lieutenant Scott hadn't shown his face in the class that he was supposed to be teaching, even to proctor the midterm exam on the half of the course he'd taught. Leonard wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant, but he hoped the guy hadn't been caught.

Jim didn't need to know that Leonard had been dragged in for another board of inquiry – but this time, it wasn't for the medical ethics case. No, this was an interrogation from the team investigating the crash. Didn't need to know that the investigation was being bottled tighter than a sample of Tellarite Plague, and that not a single question asked by the investigation team had given him a scrap of insight or a clue. Or that the lead man on the investigation – the same bastard who Leonard had seen in Jim's hospital room interrogating the kid into a panic, and later, in the Warming Hut – was Admiral Romano.

And mostly, Jim also didn't need to know that Leonard had been evaluating his psych status all week. As tough and capable as Jim was... that head injury had left an impact. If his symptoms became apparent to anyone who didn't know Jim as well as Leonard did, then an official Starfleet psychiatrist would have to evaluate him. For now, it was mostly subtle stuff. Most people wouldn't notice. But he was Jim's _Bones_, dammit, and he could tell.

The paranoia wasn't gone - just subdued. There were mental lapses that Jim covered well enough with humor to hide it from most people. Jim would blank out on parts of conversations, get caught up in his thoughts, and miss connections of logic and reason that usually came as natural to the kid as breathing. And he was –

– distracted suddenly by a commotion in the infirmary lobby.

"Easy there, lassie! Yeh don't need to... oh for the love of – I can walk!"

Surprised by the familiar voice, Leonard stuck his head out of the Attending Physician's office to see what late Friday excitement had just walked through the infirmary's front door. "Lieutenant Scott?"

Scott's head turned quickly away from the young woman who was trying to guide him by the elbow and the slightly older man who was hanging back slightly. "Doctor McCoy! Good t'see a familiar face." He glanced back at the woman, not quite hiding the look of scorn. "Now that'll be enough of that. The good doctor here will patch it right up." And with that, he quickly extricated himself from her grasp and practically rushed past Leonard towards the first empty exam and treatment room.

It was only as he hurried by that Leonard saw the brutal burns on the man's hands, and was able to note the pallor of his face and sweat breaking across his skin. Leonard managed to hide his surprise at Scott's injuries as he gave a dismissive nod to the two people who'd come in with the Lieutenant, then followed the man into the exam room and shut the door before bursting out, "Good God, man! What the hell did you do to yourself?"

The pain finally showed on Scott's face as he awkwardly tried to hop up onto the biobed without using his hands. He accepted Leonard's help with a grateful nod and a wince. "It wasn't what I did, McCoy. It's those damned civie engineers I've been babysittin' for the past week. Before they can start doing live trials of the new engine designs, they're runnin' tests. And more tests. Ooch, easy there!"

Leonard was already scanning Scott's hands with the tricorder, but was also gently testing the nerve response with his own gloved hand. "Sorry, Lieutenant – needed to check for nerve function."

"Aye, well, the nerve's still functioning just fine then." He gritted his teeth, and Leonard could see the tension in his muscles and the pallor of his skin – it had to hurt like hell. Plasma burns were vicious.

"I can see that." Leonard put down the tricorder and hurried to load a hypospray with an analgesic and a broad-spectrum antibiotic. "I'm honestly amazed that you _could _walk in here on your own, Scott. Almost anyone with burns like that would have gone into shock... although you're pretty close." He gently pressed the hypospray to Scott's neck.

"Ach! Well, I'll tell you, yeh don't get far in theoretical engineering without having a few fine experiments blow up in your hands, Doctor."

Leonard snorted. "I may possibly have noticed that tendency among the engineers here on campus."

"I'm not surprised yeh noticed."

"Uh-huh." He sprayed a fine mist of topical anesthetic over the burns, then sat back, watching and waiting for the meds to kick in before he could start manipulating Scott's hands without causing him even more excruciating pain. "Tell me when the pain goes numb. So, the burns? How'd you get them this time?"

"Well, not so much my fault this time 'round. One of the Terran teams in that damned engine competition was preparing a demonstration for the Engineering Department's top brass tomorrow, and wanted help conducting a test fire." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, riding out a wave of pain, before blowing out a heavy breath and speaking again. "Their engine model has a few bugs to work out, including a nasty bit with an overloaded plasma conduit. Faulty resistance matrix. The bloody thing flashed and vented in my hands when I went to connect it. I tell yeh, I don't know how some of these tinkerin' backyard engineers got their designs this far, as incompetent as they are in practical work. Yeh can do things by the book, McCoy, but I think we both know... the rules aren't always the most important thing, and the book isn't always right." He shot Leonard a meaningful look.

Nodding, Leonard replied, "I'd like to think so."

"I know so... aaah, whatever yeh gave me, the stuff's starting to work. That's a wee bit better." He let out a sigh of relief.

"It should help - I gave you the good stuff." He grabbed a dermagel spray from the cabinet.

"Thanks for that. Yer a good man, Doctor." He flashed a grateful smile.

Leonard nodded and slowly picked up Scott's hand, beginning to spray down the damaged tissue. "I do what I can."

"Aye, and I know that. So do I." His smile faded and turned solemn. "I owe yeh an apology, McCoy. I've been swamped this week with these civie engineers, and I had to cancel all my extracurricular work. I should've notified you directly, but I was up to my ears in this – ouch! That stings a bit there."

"Sorry." He quickly doused the area with another dose of the topical analgesic before returning to the dermagel. "There. Wow's that?"

"Better, thanks."

"Good. And it's okay that you had to cancel. I..." He blew out a breath that it felt like he'd been holding for a week. "I actually was a bit worried that they'd caught on to our investigation." _Or worried that I'd misplaced my trust_, he thought, but kept that to himself.

Scott let out a bitter sort of laugh. "No, McCoy. They've not caught me."

Leonard pulled back his hands and looked at Scott with an uneasy sense. "Lieutenant?"

Despite the physical stress of the injury, Scott gave him a surprisingly level gaze. "A week ago, the whole Engineering section of the faculty got a briefing – not just those of us working on the investigation. The whole department was there. The Admiral told us that until further notice, all flight recorder data from any shuttlecraft training flight is considered to be secure information, and can only be distributed by official channels. Also told us that any discussion of Kirk's crash is classified, and we're not to speak of it unless we're called into a hearing specifically regarding the crash."

"So they expect the whole campus just to stop talking about it?" Leonard asked cynically.

"No… just any of us who had any chance of being able to make heads or tails of the whole bloody mess." He pressed his lips together grimly. "And then I got pulled off the investigation. Same day I was assigned to civie babysitting duty. Same day it was _highly suggested _that I not speak to yeh, McCoy."

Leonard suddenly realized he wasn't breathing. Forcing himself to take a few slow, deep breaths, he turned away and dug a pair of regen gloves out of the equipment cabinet. "Lie down," he said flatly. "Regen will take a little while – you've got some deep burns. Might as well make yourself comfortable."

Scott nodded and swung his legs up on the biobed before laying back and holding up his hands for Leonard to put the gloves on. "I'm sorry I didn't tell yeh, McCoy. If they'd caught us for sure, I'd have been assigned to the farthest reaches of the quadrant by now. The fact that I'm still here means they've got nothing solid. But I was afraid that if I did try to contact you, they'd track it further. But I promise yeh, I didn't tell a soul."

"It's okay," he said as he slid the first regen glove over Scott's left hand. He held back his sigh of relief. "I knew you wouldn't tell anyone. But I already knew they'd caught me."

"How?"

"Sources. The fact that I'm working here instead of over at Starfleet Medical. And the fact that Admiral Romano might have overheard me reviewing the flight recorder data."

Scott let out a low whistle. "That cannae be good." He twitched as Leonard activated the regen field before switching to the other glove.

"No, but he's got no proof. As soon as I realized he might have heard, I deleted the whole thing from my PADD before anyone could have had a chance to track it."

"Aye, good thinking there, McCoy," Scott said, nodding slowly in approval. "I'm sorry we lost the data, though. And I'm sorry that I can't help anymore. But I swear, McCoy, I won't say a word to cross yeh."

Leonard finally allowed himself a tired smile. "I know you wouldn't, Scott. And now I'd bet my bourbon on it." He slid the second glove onto Scott's right hand and activated it. "There, let those sit for a half hour. You can take a nap of you'd like."

"I'm unlikely to sleep about now," he said, despite the obvious exhaustion in his voice. "Besides, while we're here… there's the matter of doctor-patient confidentiality, isn't there now?"

"Yes," Leonard said cautiously. "There is."

Scott grinned broadly. "Good. Because I did manage to hammer out some of those theories we were looking at. They won't tell us who did it, but I've got a better idea of how."

Leonard looked at him for a moment, before nodding. "One second." He tapped the comm panel. "Nurse Rivera, I'm going to sit with our burn patient here to monitor his progress. Just page me if we get anything worse than a stubbed toe."

"_Yes, Doctor McCoy_."

With a heavy breath, Leonard sat down on the doctor's stool, raising the seat so he could comfortably look Scott in the face, and said, "Tell me."

*.&.*

Lieutenant Scott had been right the first time, Leonard thought bitterly. Not a single theory about the cause of the shuttle crash was particularly palatable.

Normally, according to Lieutenant Scott, a drop in efficiency indicated a faulty engine part. However, Scott had accessed the pre-flight inspection log before he'd been taken off the case, and Jim's inspection had been textbook perfect. Which meant that something was wrong with the engine that the standard Level 2 diagnostic inspection wouldn't have caught.

That left only a few systems suspect. First, there was the engine core, which was usually only handled and inspected by engineers, not pilots. Jim wouldn't have touched it in his pre-flight inspection, other than to run a function check indirectly, through the computer. Which led to the second possibility: it could have been the computer core, which was an extremely rare malfunction, but also the easiest place to hide an act of sabotage, if it was placed in a deeply buried subroutine or seldom-used system. It _could _have been the case that the shuttle was perfectly fine before takeoff, but something happened during the flight... but that negated the possibility of sabotage.

Jim had been _sure_ he'd seen something, even though he couldn't seem to remember _what_, so Leonard didn't want to negate that unless everything else had been slapped down. Additionally, there was still the matter of the extra four kilograms of weight aboard the shuttle. If that weight was due to a device that had been planted, perhaps the item that Jim had seen, then such a device could have been responsible for any of those malfunctions Scott had described… except for the issue of pilot error.

Which led to the final possible malfunction that could be missed during a Level 2 diagnostic: it could have been a secondary circuit... like the one Scott suspected that Jim had rerouted during his initial attempt to fix the problem.

If it was a secondary circuit, it meant the possibility of something that could have remained undetected for a long time, save for negligible anomalous readings... such as a drop in engine efficiency. And then, whatever device had been planted could be activated from a distance. Or perhaps triggered when a certain action was performed, or a certain function activated.

That led to the final possibility, disturbing and sobering though it was: that Jim's attempt to fix the problem – whether there was an underlying act of sabotage or not – had triggered the whole mess.

Lieutenant Scott had been horribly apologetic that he hadn't been able to come up with anything conclusive, but without the flight recorder feed on hand to re-check things, there was no way to know. And as soon as Scott had left the infirmary, Leonard knew he probably wouldn't see the young officer for quite a while, so any further collaboration on the investigation was unlikely.

For now, all Leonard had were dead ends and empty theories. The worst part was having to accept it.

*.&.*

It took Jim another week to get back to the hangar, but this time, he was supposed to be there. He wasn't hunting for classified information, either. No. Loathe as he'd been to accept it, after two more failed attempts to find any relevant information in the databanks that hadn't been classified beyond his clearance level, he'd given up. For now, anyway. In the meantime, he'd focused on his classes, his physical therapy sessions, and trying to keep Bones from questioning his sanity.

The only thing he was still waiting to do, besides hand-to-hand, was flying. The Flight and Navigation department admins had decided that Nova Squadron needed a couple of weeks to settle themselves before getting exposed to the emotional barrage of being back around the shuttles, where they'd last been together as a full flight squad. Personally, Jim had figured that the longer they waited, the worse it would get.

As he walked through the security gate, however, he wasn't so sure of that.

The shuttle hangar had been one of Jim's favorite places since the start of the semester, especially early in the morning. The oversized building echoed with the footsteps of the few cadets and instructors scattered amidst shuttles and equipment. He always felt dwarfed by the hangar – small and insignificant with the enormous ceiling over his head and the hollow echoes. But then, there was always the anticipation that came with stepping into the hangar - the thrill of knowing that soon, his shuttle would lift off the ground and he'd feel large and powerful in orbit, soaring miles above the earth.

There was no such thrill this time. Today, the hangar seemed cold and empty and foreboding. His team - what was left of it - was meeting for an after-action review of the failed training mission that had taken place almost three weeks ago. They'd review protocols and procedures, go back into the shuttles, run through the inspections, and then possibly do a simulator flight. It felt like being taught how to walk after you could already run.

And at the same time, Jim wasn't sure he was ready to walk yet.

Sure, almost all of his physical restrictions had been dropped at this point, leaving only hand-to-hand combat, level-three fitness training, and running to be cleared by his physician. But that was just the physical. He was still keeping up in all his classes. His peers were generally taking things in stride, and so was he, really. Just back to normal, whatever normal was anymore.

But still, today was different. Today was his return to the place where everything had gone so wrong. Today, he and his team had to come back together as a flight squad, and there would be no ignoring anything.

His stomach clenched as his footsteps echoed in the nearly empty hangar, and the distant voices of other personnel only deepened the dread.

When he got to their regular trainee shuttle bay, Okoru was already there, perched on an equipment container, staring fixedly at a PADD while her feet swung absently in the air. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps approaching, and favored him with an encouraging smile that still looked a bit rusty. "Ready for this, Kirk?"

"Don't have much of a choice, do I?" he said, realizing that his throat was unexpectedly dry. Sighing, he leaned back against the equipment container and heaved himself up next to Okoru. His toes almost touched the ground, which made her dangling legs seem comically short. "But hey, back on the horse, right?"

"You will perform admirably, Kirk," Thaleb said, popping out from the open hatch of one of the shuttles. "Your injuries and sorrows will not hinder your warrior's heart."

Jim felt himself flushing a bit around the collar. Thaleb certainly had a very non-human directness about the way he expressed things, but really, Jim appreciated that about the guy. You never had to guess what he meant. "Thanks, Thaleb. It's still just a little bit disorienting."

"Well," Okoru said thoughtfully, "you've got another fifteen minutes before Captain Tanner is due to show up. Maybe you can take the time to get oriented."

"A wise suggestion," Thaleb said with a nod. "Kirk, I am performing a diagnostic of the navigation system. You may join me, if you wish."

Jim forced a smile. "Sure, why not?" He hopped down, pleased with the lack of ache in his hips when he landed, and led the way into the shuttle.

His movements were smooth and automatic, the result of many hours spent in the shuttles this semester. He immediately took the copilot's seat and began checking the status readouts on the nav computer as Thaleb sat down. It felt familiar as their voices began to bounce back and forth with checks and cross-checks, diagnostic cycles, and sensor readouts. It was good to do something so routine, so normal. Okoru was right - it was good to get oriented again.

"Cross-check atmospheric nav sensors with thrusters," Thaleb recited, in perfect order of the navigation system shakedown.

"Aye," Jim replied easily. "Activating thruster circuits. Cross-checking..." His voice trailed off as the engine began to hum.

In the back of his mind, he felt the surge of excitement he always got at the notion of prepping the craft for takeoff, knowing that soon, he'd be sailing above the clouds. But this time, in a far more immediate and urgent way, he was aware that his breath was suddenly stuck in his lungs, and his palms were starting to sweat. His fingers hovered over the control panel, but he couldn't remember what he was doing, what he needed to press next.

"Kirk? Are you experiencing difficulty?" Thaleb's voice was steady and firm, bringing Jim back to himself... almost.

"Yeah... I mean, no. No. Just..." He took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to suppress the nerves that were suddenly threatening to overtake him. "Cross-checking the nav calculations with thruster pressure. Reading 98.72% accuracy."

"Recalibrating nav computer with thrusters," Thaleb replied. "Cross-check again."

Jim's hands shook as they flew through the familiar sequence on the control panel. "Now reading 99.36% accuracy."

"Recalibrating..."

They finished running through the nav computer checks just before Captain Tanner was due to arrive, and Jim had never been so relieved to get out of a shuttle before. _Damn, I'll never give_ _Bones shit about aviophobia again. Fuck..._

The actual review of the last training mission wasn't as bad as Jim had thought it would be. Captain Tanner wasn't being pushy or demanding, and he ran it like any other training debriefing. Besides, Jim had already re-hashed the training mission so many times, he'd gotten to the point where he could recite the sequence of events with no more emotion than he got from reading a technical manual. Well, perhaps not _that _detached, but still better than the first few times. Really though, as he looked around at the faces of his teammates and inevitably back to Captain Tanner, he was was far more distracted today by the simple knowledge that Tanner had contacted his mother to think too much about the crash.

It was the first time he'd seen the Captain since the morning of the crash, and he kept feeling like every time Tanner so much as glanced at him, there was some sort of bizarre pity and familiarity embedded in his demeanor. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it had always been there, but Jim had never had a reason to notice. He wanted to confront the man, but at this point, he knew it wouldn't do any good. And really, he was almost grateful for his current state of annoyance. Stewing over Tanner's friendship with his mother was keeping him distracted from the nerves – _fear –_ that had started to overtake him in the cockpit of the shuttle.

Every so often, he'd look over at the shuttle, and his skin would crawl, cold nerves prickling uncomfortably over his arms and neck. The shuttle really did look far too fragile. And if something went wrong, it couldn't always be fixed. Jim had never had a death wish, contrary to some Bones' frequent half-sarcastic insinuations. It was merely that he'd never been afraid of dying, and never saw a reason for fear to hold him back anyway. He'd been living on borrowed time since the day he was born, really.

But it wasn't about him this time. Hell, even Pike had said so.

No, this time, someone else had died, inches away from him. In the vacuum of space, at the bottom of a planetary gravity well, fighting against engines that weren't responding, with only a nanofiber harness and the brittle walls of a shuttlecraft to protect them. The impact of the crash had been brutal, but worse than that, he remembered the sudden sensation of the air rushing out around him, then nothing. No air, no breath, no life, then the hum and tingle of a transporter beam, whisking him away from oblivion just as the shuttle shuddered and dissolved into a fireball around him. And when he'd arrived on the transporter pad in a mangled heap, and air had rushed back into his lungs like a thousand hot knives, all he could do was scream for Tambe.

Suddenly, instead of wanting to get back on the horse, Jim wanted to be as far from the damned barn as possible. One of those shuttles had claimed Tambe. It had almost claimed him. The idea of being trapped in a rickety little shuttle, with its unreliable engines and weak hull that would shatter like glass on impact, exposing him to the suffocating vacuum of space...

"Cadet Kirk? Are you paying attention, Cadet?" Captain Tanner was directly in front of him, but to Jim's surprise, didn't seem particularly angry at having caught one of his trainees not paying attention. In fact, he almost sounded concerned, which only made Jim far more uncomfortable.

"Yes, sir... sorry, sir," Jim blurted, stumbling over his words. "I was... just trying to remember something."

"Well, I hope you remember how to bring a shuttle up to orbit, because we're going to run a simulator mission now, and if that goes well, we'll get the team back in the air next Monday. How's that sound?"

In a flash, it was as if all the air was rushing from the room again, and Jim felt his lungs struggling against nothingness. Only some twisted combination of a year of Starfleet training plus sheer force of will kept him from physically recoiling. Holding the Captain's gaze, Jim nodded. "Ready to go, sir."

Hoping that he was projecting far more confidence than he was feeling, Jim hopped off the crate he'd been sitting on and followed the Captain and the rest of his team off to the flight simulators.

*.&.*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes:** Sorry for the slow updating. I'm two weeks out from the end of my EMT training, and between studying and work, I haven't had any time. However, I have a quiet morning today, and I remembered that I'd been delinquent in my posting duties. Here's the next chapter!

*.&.*

"So, how'd it feel, Kirk?"

Jim finished running the towel over his hair and looked up to see Romano leaning against his locker, still looking sweaty. "How'd what feel?" he asked with a grin. "Getting back to the sparring mat, or watching my team kick your team's collective ass?"

Romano rolled his eyes and turned to open his locker and pull out some clean clothes. He was sweaty from sparring, flush-faced, and was working too hard at looking casual. "Getting back to the sparring mat," he said, dropping the clothes on the locker bench.

Jim shrugged and grabbed a clean pair of underwear. "Didn't go very hard today, but I can't complain for my first day off the restricted activity profile. It felt good. So did the other part. Glad to see that my squad has been practicing while I was gone." He glanced across the locker room where Stephens and Martinez were talking animatedly, obviously miming parts of their respective matches with broad arm gestures, and Jim allowed himself a proud smile. He turned his head back, still grinning.

Romano gave him a neutral nod as he stripped off his dirty sparring uniform. "Yeah, gotta admit – you've done a good job with them... for being a second-year." He tossed the uniform into the refresher unit, then walked over to the sonic shower, still talking. "But hey, the beer's good, so I can't complain too much if you're using up all your permitted credits for alcohol on me."

"Small sacrifices," Jim said, indulging in a smug grin as he pulled on his underwear and reached for his t-shirt. He hadn't felt much like drinking since the crash anyway. His head still felt fuzzy half the time, and he didn't need to do anything to make it worse. "I don't see how you can stand sonic showers," he said offhandedly. "I never feel clean with those."

"They're quicker." Romano's voice had the typical odd wavy tone from speaking through the sonics. "So, I hear your flight squad is back in the air tomorrow."

Jim was immensely grateful that Romano was tucked into the sonics stall, because he felt instantly gutted, and almost stumbled as he tried to pull on his uniform pants. "Yeah," he croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. "Just orbital maneuvers."

"Hmmm. I'm sure you guys will be back on track in no time."

"I'm sure," Jim said vaguely. He fastened the zipper of his pants, then the button, but his fingers felt clumsy.

"Looking forward to it?"

"Yeah." The word came out rough and low. He really didn't want to be having this conversation, and definitely not with Romano. For the past week, since the debriefing with his squad, he'd been trying not to think about it too much. If he thought about it, his mind went to one of three places - revenge for Tambe, anger at being told not to investigate the crash, or the way he'd barely made it through the flight simulation without panicking the week before.

"Is Captain Tanner going to try to fill the vacant slot?"

"I don't know," he bit out through mounting uneasiness. No, he didn't want to have this conversation with Romano, and there was no way in hell he wanted to consider replacing Tambe. He hurriedly pulled on his uniform jacket. "Listen, Romano, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Gotta run."

The sonics turned off, and Romano stepped out of the stall, grabbing his clothes off the bench. "Hey, don't let me hold you up. But don't forget - you owe me a beer tonight."

Jim nodded as he grabbed his bag and made his escape with a wave and a nod. "Later."

A moment later, Jim hurried out through the front door of the field house, walking rapidly across campus, forcing himself to breathe deeply and unclench his fists. As he moved, the nerves that had been building to a peak while he was talking to Romano began to diffuse as he breathed in the fresh air with its hint of ocean salt. That was always soothing, and Jim hadn't gotten enough of it in recent weeks. It was a decently warm day for early November – clear sky, little fog. He didn't need to spend a day like this dealing with Romano.

Hell, it was a Monday, but it was a pretty good day, all told. The doctors had cleared him for full duty again at his last physical therapy session, and in the very least, that had to be something to cheer about. Ready to begin Level Three fitness training again. Ready to spar in hand-to-hand again. Ready for active flight training.

At least, he was supposed to be ready. If he had to look himself in the eye, he wouldn't have been able to say he was.

It was a really disconcerting feeling. He knew he _should be_ ready to go back up in a shuttlecraft. He knew he was capable. His flight aptitude testing and progress markers this semester were excellent. He damn well _knew _he could do it.

Which, of course, only made him feel far more irritated with himself when he realized how fucking nervous he was.

As much as he wasn't one to talk about feelings – in fact, his preferred approach was to plow through and see where the shit landed – he was starting to consider the possibility that he might actually need some help with this. He was considering asking the one guy he knew happened to have similar feelings about space flight and shuttlecrafts. The one guy he still trusted. The guy he was meeting for lunch.

He'd promised to meet Bones at the mess hall at noon. Truth be told, he'd barely seen Bones in the past week, especially since he'd gone back to his own dorm room. Bones had apparently been slammed with clinic duty, and was still trying to fight for his research project that had been put on hold. Jim still had no idea what his research project could possibly have to do with a malpractice case, especially since his research hadn't involved any patients, but it was possible that Starfleet Medical's top brass enjoyed punishing people in odd ways. Mess up in one area, get a different privilege revoked. It wouldn't be surprising. But either way, the few times that Jim had seen Bones lately, he'd been too stressed to really talk.

Lunch would be good for the both of them.

A few minutes later, Jim was pushing through the thick lunchtime crowds to get a tray. He was almost at the start of the short-order line when he spotted Bones... also in the short-order line.

"Bones!"

After a brief startle, Bones shot back a furious eyebrow. "Jim," he said with a huff of air. "Will you ever learn to greet someone in a civilized manner?"

"Sure," he said easily, grabbing a hamburger and a plate of fries off the line. "I aced Diplomacy Level Two last semester. I can properly greet sixty-one different sentient species."

"Good to know," Bones grumbled, grabbing his own plate of fries to go along with the burger he'd already grabbed. "Did that list include fellow humans?" Then he reached for a slice of chocolate cake at the end of the line.

Jim frowned as he grabbed an apple. "Uh... Bones... I know I'm the last person who should be offering dietary advice, but... I can't remember the last time you put that much fried food on your plate without any recognizable fresh vegetation. You okay?"

"Comfort food," came the grunted reply.

"Shouldn't that be... Georgia... let's see... fried okra, collard greens, southern-fried –"

"Leave it." Bones turned back over his shoulder, attempting a scowl, but failing. "I'm tired, Jim. They had me on clinic all weekend, and... let's talk when we get to a table. Here, follow me."

Weaving through the throng, Bones led the way out of the main part of the mess hall and up a flight of stairs to a smaller alcove where hungry cadets went to hide if they didn't want a lot of noise with their meals. He didn't say a word the entire time. Not so much as a glance in Jim's direction.

Jim, for his part, was starting to feel nervous. A dozen different possibilities flashed through his mind. Maybe Bones' research project situation had gotten worse. Or his ex-wife had found another way to torment him. Perhaps the medical malpractice case had gone all wrong. He might be furious at Jim for something Jim didn't even now he'd done yet... and that actually seemed like the safest starting point. "Uh... Bones? Did I do something wrong?"

But Bones just shook his head, then glanced around before settling on a table in the far corner of the alcove, against one of the large plate windows. It was brightly lit by daylight streaming in through the windows, but Bones hit the table like a storm cloud. He put his tray on the table just hard enough that his drink sloshed, and then sat with his back to the window. Jim mirrored him, albeit a bit more carefully, and opened his mouth to speak, but Bones glared at him before picking up his burger and taking a huge bite out of it.

Realizing that Bones wasn't going to speak until he was good and ready, Jim sighed and dug into his own food. The silence between them was uncomfortable, but there was no point in pushing it. The only sounds were the soft background conversations of other cadets and the clanks and clinks of dishes and cutlery. Bones wasn't even grumbling to himself. Finally, after Jim had finished almost half of his hamburger, Bones put down his own burger, leaned his elbows heavily on the table, and sighed. His face was unreadable.

"Sorry I'm being an ass."

Jim shrugged. "No problem. You're good at it."

The indefinable expression morphed into resignation. "Yeah... not good at much else lately."

"Okay, now I'm just worried. That doesn't sound like you." Putting down his own burger, Jim leaned over the table, mirroring his friend. "Come on, Bones. What's going on?"

He grumbled for a moment, staring at his fries, before looking up to meet Jim's gaze. "I need your help."

Now _that_ was not what Jim had expected. "You need _my _help? With what? Are they giving you more shit about your research project? Do you want me to help you study for an exam?" Flashed what he hoped was a roguish grin. "Finally found a girl you like and need a wingman who won't let you down?"

Bones scowled for just the briefest of moments, then sighed again. "The last thing I need is your help with women. No... it's my Basic Engineering and... and Piloting class. We started our flight unit." His eyes suddenly began to look distantly haunted. "We did simulators the past two weeks, but we're going up next week. I thought I could do it, but I can't. I need help with this, Jim."

Jim stared across the table, feeling like his stomach had just fallen out. In his mind, the right answer was there, so clear, so obvious. He'd give Bones the most self-assured and reassuring grin he could manage, lean his chin on one hand, joke about how it was high time Bones realized he had valuable skills to share, and that of course he'd help with this. Always said he'd help Bones when the time finally came to get him back in a shuttlecraft. Would always be there for him. Tell him that he'd be fine, and that _these things are pretty safe_.

He couldn't say that now.

Instead, Jim swallowed tightly and forced the closest thing he could manage to a sympathetic smile. "Help with it... how?" That was the best he could stumble over.

Bones looked around the room nervously before setting his gaze back on Jim. "I need to do some flight sims with someone I trust. Practice. Irrational or not, the counselor I saw about the aviophobia isn't helping at all. And the self-help stuff, the psych doctorate, the self-hypnosis..." He groaned slightly. "I've tried all of it, Jim. I need to do this _with _someone."

"I didn't know you were..." _What? Didn't know Bones was suffering through this? _Jim wanted to slap himself. He knew fully well that Bones was dreading this, but with everything else going on, he'd forgotten. Completely. What sort of asshole was he? To forget that his best friend was getting ready to face a debilitating phobia, and he'd _sworn_ that he was going to help when the time came? Fuck his own problems – sure, he'd had a legitimate distraction lately, but he had to move on. _It's not all about me. _Jim sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Bones. I forgot that this was coming up for you. There's just been... you know... a lot going on."

"I know, and I'm sorry that I'm asking you for this now." He leaned back in his chair and blew out a heavy breath, pressing his hands on the edge of the table as if bracing himself. "Can you help me with it?"

Jim hesitated for a split second, mentally balking at the idea. His gut instinct was telling him to say, "Sorry, but I just can't do it," but after all Bones had done for him, he couldn't leave the guy hanging. So, quickly, before Bones might notice anything other than complete confidence and willingness, Jim leaned in closer and pasted the best mask of sincerity he could manage on his face. "What do you need me to do?"

A look of stark relief muted only by exhaustion washed over Bones' features. "Do you have any time for a couple of simulator run-throughs with me this week? Just walk through it a couple of times with me?"

Jim was nodding easily. "Sure, I can do that. Not a problem."

"And..." Bones' face pinched with indecisiveness.

"Spill it, Bones."

He held back for another moment before leaning in on the table. "You said you were going to test for assistant instructor status… if you think you're ready for it. When's the test?"

"I can request to test for it whenever I feel ready. Why?"

Bones looked down at his plate and poked at a French fry. It was really damned disconcerting to see Bones fidget. The guy grumbled, glared, and even growled upon occasion, but he didn't fidget. "We get to go up for our final exam with either an instructor or any certified assistant instructor available. We... I'd still be evaluated by my course instructor from the ground. It's not a complicated maneuver like the stuff you guys do. I just need to be able to take the shuttle up to a low orbit, complete one full planetary orbit, and bring the shuttle back to the hangar. Really basic." He looked up again, and his eyes held a thinly veiled desperation – something that Bones _never _showed, for any reason. "I don't want to pressure you, but if you're going to get your certification anyway... could you?"

Flattered that Bones would ask him something so important, shocked to have it thrown at him so unexpectedly, and scared as hell that he wouldn't be able to do it, Jim started to nod. He was _going _to say that he would. Of course. Without a doubt. But his comm unit suddenly buzzed. The tone signaled an urgent message, and Jim was almost relieved for the spare moment before he would reassure Bones that he'd be there to help.

Grabbing the communicator, he gave Bones the universal _just a minute _nod. Then he flipped the comm open, setting the volume to private mode and pressing it to his ear. "Cadet Kirk."

_"Cadet Kirk, this is Captain Weise. You are ordered to report to Archer Hall, room 3017, at 1230 hours today."_

Jim blinked in surprise at the oddly familiar voice that he couldn't quite place, but more surprised as he looked up at the chrono on the far wall. 1220 hours.

"Sir, it's already 1220 hours."

"_Then you'll have to move quickly, Cadet._" Her voice left no room for argument – she didn't care that he'd practically have to run to get there on time.

Jim grimaced to himself. "Yes, sir... but may I ask, why am I being ordered to report?"

"_The Investigations Committee requires your further testimony regarding the crash. It has been nearly four weeks, and your final medical profile restrictions were removed today. Report promptly, Cadet. Captain Weise out."_

Jim closed the comm unit before the disconnect chime finished sounding and looked up at Bones, who was staring back with a combination of curiosity and concern of his own. Vaguely, Jim was pleased to see a far more familiar look on Bones' face than the one he'd been wearing a minute ago, but mostly, he was too deep in his own problems to really care.

"Jim? What's going on?"

Swallowing tightly, Jim stood up and looped his bag over his shoulder in one rapid movement, causing Bones to startle. "I've gotten summoned to report to a board of inquiry... about the crash. I've got ten minutes to get there."

Bones was on his feet a second later. "You're kidding me! What is it with these investigation boards not giving people a goddamned minute to prepare?"

Jim looked at him grimly. "Maybe that's the point, Bones. No time to think up a new story or talk to someone else." He grabbed what was left of his hamburger. "Gotta go. You stay and finish your health food. Comm me after your lab tonight, okay?"

"Okay... but Jim?"

He froze, one foot already aimed towards the door, one foot holding its spot at the table. "Yeah, Bones?"

"Take care of yourself."

Nodding, because he didn't trust his voice just then, Jim gave a little wave and hurried out of the mess hall. He paused on the steps and stared at the half-eaten burger in his hand and sighed before tossing it in a reprocessing unit. He'd lost his appetite anyway.

The campus looked as mundane as ever for lunchtime on a Monday, with the pace of life around him relaxed under the clear November skies. The wind was cool but not cold yet. Cadets milled around on the quad, some even taking their lunches on the benches and grassy lawns instead of in the mess hall. The bright summer gardens had long since faded to the darker foliage of the late-year greenery, and everything seemed relaxed and subdued around him.

It was a cruel contrast to the hammering heart in his own chest, which seemed to keep time with the pounding of his feet on the plascrete as he rushed along the pathways across campus towards the admin buildings and Archer Hall. He was trying not to think about it too much, but questions and uncertainties spun in his head. What they might be asking him that they didn't already know? Had they had come any closer to identifying the saboteur? Who were the suspects? Why the _fuck _they hadn't called him sooner, why was nobody telling him anything, and would they question his own actions the day of the crash...

It made no sense to try anticipating anything when it came to administrative decisions, as he'd learned. Flag officers had their own way of approaching the world, and vaguely, he hoped he'd _never _be an admiral. Sitting behind desks all day must warp their minds, it seemed.

By the time he blew through the front doors of Archer Hall, he was out of breath and almost out of time. He waved his ID to the security scanner at the turbolift, then zipped up to the third floor. Room 3017 was opened, and as he walked through the door, any hope he'd had for a minor ordeal faded like smoke.

It wasn't an office. Instead, he found himself in a board room facing a long table positioned lengthwise across the back wall. Five chairs faced him from the far side of the table, each with a ranking officer, none of whom looked ready for a pleasant chat. In the center sat a starkly familiar Admiral whose name he didn't know... and to his right, there was – _Captain Weise,_his brain supplied, and he suddenly remembered why she'd seemed familiar on the comm. She and the Admiral – whatever his name was – had come to his hospital room to question him three weeks ago. There was another Admiral Jim had never seen before, a Commodore, and at the far left-hand end of the table, to his slight shock, sat Commander Toland.

_Just one more thrilling surprise today_, but he couldn't spare it a second thought as he stepped to the center of the room and faced the Admiral in the middle of the table. He snapped to attention and rendered a formal salute. "Cadet Kirk, reporting as ordered, Sir."

The Admiral returned the salute with practiced carelessness. "At ease, Cadet."

Jim dropped the salute, and although he assumed a relaxed position of parade rest, with his hands tucked just below the small of his back, he was anything but _at ease_.

The Admiral glanced down at a PADD for a moment, his moustache twitching as he read something before looking back up. "We apologize for the abruptness of the summons, Kirk, but for the integrity of these proceedings, the security of the investigation, and for your own safety, we felt it best."

Jim nodded, biting back the retort that was ready to spring sharply from his tongue. He'd have no excuses of pain meds, sedatives, and brain surgery to cloud his judgment of proper decorum today. "Understood, Admiral."

"Very good. Then we're ready to begin." He leaned forward on the table, all thick arms and neck, dark eyes set sternly in a reddish face with a large, square jaw above the start of a double chin and _damn, he looks familiar._ It wasn't just from the time the guy had intruded into Jim's hospital room, either, but damned if Jim could figure out why. The Admiral looked sideways at a Yeoman who was sitting at a small desk in the corner of the room –_ I didn't even notice her _– who reached up to a computer console and flipped a control switch. The Admiral cleared his throat. "This is a formal investigation, Kirk. All questions and responses are being recorded. Please state your full name and rank for the record."

If the investigation itself hadn't been nerve-wracking enough, the unbridled formality tipped the scales. Swallowing, Jim said, "James Tiberius Kirk, Cadet Third Class."

The Admiral nodded, then looked down the table, indicating for the officers to follow suit.

"Commodore Patrick J. Hammond, JAG Investigations."

"Captain Annika Weise, JAG Investigations."

"Admiral Subira Ndungu, Starfleet Engineering."

"Commander Janice Toland, Academy Administration."

Jim could help but raise an eyebrow. _Toland must not be working as a training instructor if she's in administration now_, he mused absently, wondering why she switched tracks. He also noticed that she'd been promoted to full Commander, and wondered why. But all questions about the career track of his old pain-in-the-ass training instructor disappeared when the Admiral spoke.

"Admiral Anthony Romano, Starfleet Engineering."

Jim blinked. Stared. _Shit_. No wonder he'd looked familiar. Romano's father… that… it was just… _shit_.

"Yeoman Luiza Zietala, JAG Support Staff," chimed the Yeoman from the corner. "Names and stations complete for the record. Admiral." She nodded towards the table.

"Excellent," Romano acknowledge, then turned back to drill Jim with a questioning stare. "Now, Kirk, you previously provided a report to this committee regarding the events that occurred on the training shuttle _Pisces_. That report is still on record. However, it has been noted by several experts, including the lead neurologist on your medical case, that you were not in a suitable condition to give reliable testimony at that time."

Military training be damned, Jim couldn't help himself – he rolled his eyes.

"Do you disagree, Cadet Kirk?" the Admiral asked, with a sharp undertone.

_I'm already fucked here_, Jim thought bitterly. "Not at all. In fact, I wholeheartedly agree with the doctor's assessment. With all due respect, sir, I fail to see how any rational person would think it was a good idea in the first place to question someone when that person was just waking up from brain surgery."

Captain Weise shifted in her seat. "Kirk, your personal comfort was not –"

"Captain," Admiral Romano said, stopping her with a wave of his hand. "Kirk has a valid point and is in agreement with Starfleet Medical's top neurologists." He gave Jim a look of begruding apology. "You're right, Cadet, it wasn't the best idea."

"Then sir, seeing as this is a questioning session, I'd like to ask a question. I want to know why they made the decision to question me that day. I think it's only fair." Jim could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He was really pushing his luck, but he was also delaying the interrogation. Because honestly, he couldn't remember anything more than he could three weeks ago. In fact, the details were far more fuzzy now, blurred by time.

"Cadet Kirk," came a voice he hadn't heard directly in months. Jim turned to the left to see Commander Toland looking directly at him, piercing eyes and unapologetic mouth. "The decision was made to seek information as rapidly as possible due to the volatile political situation revolving around Starfleet's pending acquisition of new impulse engine technology. The administration needed to ensure the safety and security of the shuttlecraft and engineering programs before the live trials could proceed."

Jim wanted to gape at her. After the shit he'd gone through in her training sims the year before, she was speaking as if she barely knew him. For a split second, he felt his jaw threatening to go slack as he stared back, but he caught himself. "I appreciate the explanation, sir," he said as flatly as possible. "But with unreliable testimony from a cadet with a brain injury –" It was hard not to flinch at the thought as he said it. "– was there any gain in questioning me so soon?"

"We confirmed that the flight recorder data did indeed match your testimony, Kirk," she said, still not faltering in her hard gaze. "And based on that, the administration concluded that their propulsion research program could move forward as planned."

_Oh, so they hassled me fresh out of surgery so they could get their damned new engines faster?_ He glanced at Admiral Romano – _Starfleet Engineering, huh? _– and icy bitterness rose in his throat. On the surface, he met Toland's steady look with a polite nod. "Good to know."

There was a conspicuous throat-clearing, and Jim looked back over at Admiral Romano, who didn't seem pleased. "Kirk, I will also instruct you that anything that is said or heard in this room today can not be repeated outside of a formal board until further notice. This investigation is classified."

_Classified, my ass. _"Yes, Admiral."

Romano made a self-satisfied nod – _Now I know where his son gets the attitude _– and reached to tap a control on the computer console embedded in the tabletop. "Now, Kirk, there were a few parts of your last training mission that we wish to review in further detail now that you've recovered."

On the wall to Jim's right, a large vid screen activated, and Jim immediately recognized the format of the flight recorder data stream. Even without the information at the bottom of the screen, identifying the shuttlecraft, the two pilots, and the stardate, Jim would have known exactly which one it was. No, not by the fact that he was in a formal investigation for the mission that day, but by the shuttlecraft's external view. The view of Earth from their position of geosynchronous orbit was as breathtaking as ever.

At least _that _memory was clear as the day it happened.

But very quickly, the recorder feed was activated, and Jim felt himself sinking into the nightmare. As they progressed through the mission, various officers would prompt him with questions as he tried to explain what was said and done with professional detachment. And suddenly, Admiral Romano stopped the feedback.

"Explain this part again," he said, his voice unreadable.

"Sir?"

"You noticed the drop in engine efficiency before the first maneuver, yet you completed the maneuver regardless of the abnormal readings."

_Welcome to the hot seat, _Jim thought cynically to himself. "As Cadet Tambe noted, we were still within specs to complete the maneuver."

"Yet you considered it to be a great enough concern that you pursued it after the first maneuver had been completed. So which was it? Within specs, or abnormal enough to pursue during a training mission?"

Jim let out a slow breath, gathering the right words. "We had several minutes with no course changes, and it seemed prudent to see what was causing it, and fix it if possible, even if it wasn't outside of minimal operating parameters."

"So," Romano said slowly, "it was prudent to put the time and effort into fixing the perceived problem… even though the ranking cadet told you that it was good enough."

This time, Jim was unable to keep his mouth from falling open slightly. "Sir, in Nova Squadron, we balance each other. Not everyone can anticipate everything, even the squad leader. We rely on each other to speak up, and we discuss issues to come to the best decision possible. It's how our team works. And as you just heard me say a moment ago in the recorder playback, 'This is Starfleet. Good enough never is.' Sir."

Romano gave a tight nod, but there was no indication as to whether he approved of Jim's answer or not. "So you began investigating the engines. What did you find?"

A queasy knot began to tie itself in the pit of Jim's stomach. "Nothing abnormal aside from the efficiency drop."

"And then, Cadet Kirk, after finding nothing abnormal, and after being told by your squad leader to leave it alone, what did you do?"

The knot tightened. "I was certain that something must be causing the drop in engine efficiency, and deduced that improving the efficiency of the power conduit circuits might help bring the efficiency back to normal."

At that, Admiral Ndungu leaned in slightly, eyes flashing sharply in her dark face. "You're not an engineering cadet, so where did you learn to rewire an engine, Kirk?"

"My roommate is an engineering cadet, and I have acquaintances in the Engineering department. I always felt that knowledge was valuable, sir, so I try to learn as much as possible."

"An admirable pursuit," she said, but she didn't actually seem impressed. "Yet you decided to rewire an engine, in mid-flight, using tricks you learned from some of your friends, when you couldn't actually find anything wrong with the shuttlecraft?"

The air seemed to be getting awfully thick, Jim noted as he cleared his throat. "Sir, there was still an unexplained drop in efficiency. That indicates that there _was _something wrong, but I just hadn't found the cause yet."

"So you tried to fix a problem you hadn't yet identified," she said, this time, a note of scorn tinting her words. "Kirk, did you know that some life-saving medications can actually be fatal if administered to a person not suffering from the disease they're intended to treat?"

Around the sardonically amused thought, _I should ask Bones about that_, Jim realized bleakly where this was going. "I'm aware of this, sir. However, the alteration I made would have been more analogous to taking a vitamin supplement."

Admiral Ndungu inclined her head, gently demanding the explanation.

"It was a technique my roommate showed me," he began, trying to ignore the way his hands were itching for something to hold to steady himself. "He's been working on engine efficiency models, and I got him to show me what he's been up to. He showed me several modifications he's designed around the shuttlecraft engines – easy things, such as creating more simplified circuits, that can help to improve output and increase efficiency. I looked at his models, and his ideas worked. So, I thought that if the engine efficiency was down, trying a technique to improve the efficiency might help compensate." He swallowed, suddenly realizing how dry his throat was. "It was just a simple modification."

Ndungu reached to her own computer console and tapped a few controls. The vid screen shifted to a new view – an engine schematic. "Show us," she said.

Feeling like he was facing a firing squad, Jim approached the vid screen and began to explain. After ten minutes of trying to discuss engineering theory with the damned admiral in charge of the Academy's engineering program, Jim realized he'd never been quite so over his head in his life. He was almost relieved to step back and let them continue playing the flight recorder data.

The vid became more and more tense as the mission playback progressed. The officers on the investigation panel continued to grill him over every decision, every word, every shortcoming he might possibly have in this universe and any other that might exist. He was starting to feel as though he was under investigation for causing the crash, but that seemed ridiculous. That was just how people were in investigations like this – distant, cold, harsh.

The shuttle was starting to spiral towards the surface of Mars on the vid screen, and Jim could feel his own pulse quicken with dread. In the recording, he was calling for a beam-out, snapping back at the Mars Orbiter personnel, and scrambling out of his seat. He was out of the view of the vid recorder in the cabin of the shuttlecraft, in a last-ditch attempt to fix the engines, so as he stared at the vid screen, he filled in what he could remember.

"So at this point, I was just trying see if there was anything I'd missed that could be causing it. Last-ditch effort." _Too little, too late, _he thought angrily at himself. "I went back into the engine circuits to run a direct scan. There was nothing in the primary access zone, so I removed the secondary panels and tried to run an EM scan."

Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what he had been doing at that point. The closer he got to the crash, the fuzzier the memories became. The harder he tried to recall, the more the images, sounds, and sensations seemed to slip away from him. He knew he must have been running an EM scan because _that's what I would have done_. He remembered running some sort of scan, but not what the scan showed, and not what he saw.

"What did the scan show?" came the emotionless question from Romano, as the playback was stopped yet again.

Swallowing tightly, Jim could only say, "I don't remember."

"Are you sure about that, Kirk?"

"Yes, I'm certain that I don't remember," Jim bit out, not caring that his frustration was showing. "Believe me, sir, I've been trying."

"Then what about this?" He let the vid play for just a few more seconds, and Jim heard his voice one more time:

"_What the fuck is tha –_"

Feeling a hot flush of professional indignity for cussing on duty, he started to apologize, "I'm sorry for swearing, sir, but I –"

"We don't care about your language this time, Kirk." Romano leaned in dangerously. "We need to know what you saw."

Jim clenched his jaw so hard that it hurt. That blank spot in his mind kept getting harder and harder to pin down, much less fill. What had been almost on the tip of his tongue three weeks ago was now completely lost. "I need to know, too, Admiral. But I don't remember. I can't. I've tried, but it's just not there."

"But you're certain you remember seeing something out of

place in the engine?" That was Toland again.

Jim turned slightly to look at her directly, and she was still wearing that same look of absolute focus and attention she'd been wearing when she last spoke. Squaring his shoulders, Jim said firmly, "Yes, sir. I would swear anything by it. There was something in the engine of the _Pisces _that didn't belong there, and I am certain that it was causing the malfunctions. If anything stuck in my head from those last few minutes, that was it."

For a split second, Jim was certain that she believed him – absolutely and without question – but then Ndungu spoke again.

"So, Cadet, without any physical evidence to support your claim, as the majority of the wreckage was vaporized, and with your memory of the incident appearing broken at best, we're supposed to believe that a _thing _of unknown origin, dimensions, and function was completely responsible for this crash?" She folded her hands beneath her chin. "Because given my considerable experience in the field of engineering, and based on my observations of the flight data, it seems that the shuttlecraft was functioning completely within acceptable parameters until you started tinkering with it."

The room suddenly seemed too hot, the air too thin. In a split second, Jim's entire perception of this inquiry session turned on its head. _No. No, no, no... they've got it wrong. No fucking way._ If they were thinking of dismissing the concept of sabotage, and were going to blame him instead because it was easier... _NO._ He squared his shoulders and forced himself to keep a steady posture. "Sir, I stand by my assertion that the efficiency readings indicated a problem at the outset, _before _I touched the engines. A five point drop in efficiency between test-firing the engines that morning and the start of extra-orbital maneuvers doesn't happen without cause."

She didn't nod, didn't shake her head. Didn't give _any _indication of what she was thinking. "And Kirk, if you had been so certain there was a problem at the start of the training mission, I'll ask you again, why did you not abort the mission or comm your instructor with your concerns?"

Jim opened his mouth, but the words froze. There was only one correct answer to that question, but it was one he didn't want to give. Hated to give. Couldn't give. But he had no choice in the matter. "We thought it might have been a test to see how we'd react, and wanted to see if we could fix it ourselves," he offered vaguely.

"You attempted to fix it and failed, Cadet," Captain Weise cut in harshly. "Explain to me again why you didn't contact the Mars Orbiter or your instructor directly when it was clear that the problems were continuing."

"The problems we experienced weren't a threat to the mission until we came within range of Mars. Everything was still within operating parameters, and we had decided that we could complete the maneuver around Mars and request repairs when we docked at the Mars Orbiter." His heart was thudding uncomfortably, and he felt unsteady on his feet. "It went critical too suddenly."

Romano's eyes were unwavering as they locked with his. "Did you make the call, Kirk?"

That was the core of the issue – the one thing that Jim absolutely refused to consider, but now that it was staring him in the face, he couldn't avoid it any longer. In the end, it had been Tambe's call. Jim's throat suddenly went absolutely dry, and he whispered harshly, "No, sir."

"When Tambe made the call, did you question it?"

"No, sir." He was ashamed at how weak and watery his voice sounded. "But I should have been able to identify the problem. If I'd given her more accurate information, she could have made a better decision."

"But it was still Cadet Tambe's call," Toland chimed in with unreadable neutrality.

Jim flinched, but refused to answer directly. "But... if I'd found the thing in the engine sooner –"

"We haven't confirmed if this mysterious _thing _even exists," Ndungu said critically.

Jim scowled. "It does. Did." He turned back to Admiral Romano. "Sir, I ran a complete Level-2 diagnostic on that shuttle before we left the hangar that morning for breakfast. There was nothing unusual going on with that shuttle up to the point when I finished the diagnostic, unless it was something that couldn't have been caught by a level-2 diagnostic." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. This needed to go in a different direction. He opened his eyes and steeled himself. "After a year of Starfleet training, I've learned – _we've_ learned – that the Academy instructors love to throw unexpected training scenarios at us; fake problems, pre-programmed malfunctions, scheduled interruptions. We were operating under the assumption that this was yet another one of those _very _common training twists."

"So you thought it was fake until the moment you experienced catastrophic failure?" Admiral Ndungu's voice was cold and derisive.

"Given the nature of the training I've received thus far at the Academy, sir, I believe it was a reasonable assumption."

"Cadet Kirk," Toland suddenly interrupted, with a strange undertone in her voice, "You've seen what happens when training turns into something real. So what do you do differently when it happens to be real?"

It almost seemed like she was throwing him a rope of some sort, but he had no idea why, or what, or how to grab hold. Feeling oddly separated from his own body, Jim spoke automatically, almost as if reciting something he'd rehearsed, something he'd said to himself many times. "Nothing. We'd do the same thing we'd do if it were training, Commander. We react as if we had no safety net to rely on. If that malfunction had been real... we'd still have to be able to make those exact same maneuvers without a nearby space station and other facilities to help us. That's one of the first things we learn in the command track. We train to make the decisions, right or wrong, but we need to _make _a decision, and we hope to God that we do some of it right. If we live through it, we learn, and try to make a better decision next time."

"And if you'd been sure that this was a real malfunction, would you have made a different decision?"

And Jim froze. Because here was the point where could say, and should say, for himself, that it wasn't his place to make the decision... but he didn't want to do anything to taint Tambe's memory. At the same time, he couldn't indicate that he'd break the chain of command and go over her head if the situation had been different. And if it had been him making the final call, he wasn't sure what he'd have done. Hell, he had no idea what she'd do, either. "Sir, Tambe and I reacted to the information we had. Until the engines went into total failure, we had no reason to suspect it could get that bad. Don't tarnish her memory." He fixed his eyes on hers fiercely. "We made decisions, as a team, and we have to live or die with those decisions, sir. That's how it always will be, here or anywhere. We accepted that when we joined Starfleet. And, in any situation... you know what they say about hindsight."

Slightly, ever so slightly, Toland nodded. She looked oddly satisfied with his answer.

"Well, Cadet Kirk," Admiral Romano suddenly said, "This concludes our questions for you today. Do you have any statements or questions for the record?"

Jim pressed his lips together, facing Romano determinedly, then nodded. "A couple, sir." If he had to be raked over the coals and grilled, then in the very least, he was going to leave a few searing questions for them, too.

Romano gave a tilt of the head, inviting him to speak.

"First, sirs, I want to know if the results of this investigation will be made public."

"The results," Romano said evenly, "will be made public if and as they suit the needs of Starfleet and the Federation."

_You hyper-political, posturing bastards. _"Understood, sir. Second, do you have any suspects or leads?"

The room went dead silent for just a moment too long to feel right. Slowly, Romano leaned forward on his elbows, forearms folded. His neck looked thicker than usual, slightly tucked back into his shoulders. "Kirk, the situation is highly complex. Several possibilities are being investigated, but at the moment, seeing as the investigation is _ongoing_, we've clearly not reached any conclusions."

Jim bit down on his lower lip briefly, knowing that he should, perhaps, hold back. He couldn't. "Have you investigated Terra Prime?"

There was a sudden ruffle of murmuring at the table, with the officers glancing back and forth at each other in confusion... all except Toland. The faint look of approval that had been there a moment ago was gone, and her eyes were suddenly sharp and angry. It was Commodore Hammond whose voice cut through the low whispering.

"Cadet Kirk, what would cause you to make such an outrageous jump in reasoning?" Hammond looked positively furious. "There hasn't been a single piece of evidence to connect them to this. Do you believe Terra Prime operatives managed to penetrate the campus that deeply, only to sabotage a shuttle?"

"They planted four bombs in _this _building a year ago, Commodore," Jim said unapologetically.

Hammond's face only flushed an angrier shade of red. "Yes, Cadet. But Terra Prime has gloated over every incident they've caused in the past dozen decades. Thus far, they've not claimed any sort of responsibility for the crash."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Why would they claim responsibility for a mission they failed?"

"Failed?" Hammond's fury dissolved instantly into confusion.

"Kirk," Romano cut in, "_if _Terra Prime caused this crash as you claim..." He scowled and shook his head incredulously. "The damned shuttle crashed, Kirk, as you well know. If that's what they were trying to do, they certainly succeeded, and would have been gloating on the news vids for the past month. Why would you say they failed?"

Jim opened his mouth, ready to say, _Because I'm still alive_, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a scathing glare from Commander Toland, and suddenly he understood. _The upper administration kept my involvement in last year's incident classified. None of these officers know anything about it except Toland. _His instinct was still to bring the whole thing to light right then and there. If Terra Prime was after him, and was a renewed threat to campus, then these people ought to know. But something in the way Toland was glaring at him caused him to hold his tongue. Biting back everything he wanted to say, he squared himself up and stood at attention, doing his damnedest to look every inch the perfect cadet, and said, "Because if their purpose was to disrupt operations and stop the shuttle engine program, sir, then this attempt would be an absolute failure. The engine program is continuing, and so are we."

There was nothing but an uneasy silence for a moment as Kirk silently prayed that his cheesy, bullshit, Hail Mary pass would work. Finally, Admiral Romano's shoulders sagged slightly, and he sighed. "True enough there, Kirk. An admirable sentiment. However, at the moment, the suggestion of Terra Prime's involvement here is truly nothing more than wild speculation. And yes, although the details of last year's attempted bombing are highly classified, I'm aware that you, like the rest of us, heard enough from the news vids to put a lot of it together. Yes, they did attempt to attack the campus. But if it only took two cadets to disrupt their plans and destroy their base of operations, then it's highly unlikely that their organization is sophisticated enough right now to be able to penetrate our improved security perimeter."

_You ignorant bastard. You have no fucking clue what happened last year, and you have no idea who you're talking to. _On the outside, Jim just held his face neutrally and said, "I'm merely concerned for the safety of campus. My teammate died, sir. I don't want to see that happen to anyone else because we missed a possible threat."

"Again, your sentiment is admirable. Noble, even. But I assure you," Romano said, placatingly, "that every possible lead is being explored. And if there is nothing else, Kirk, we can close our inquiry for today." He raised an eyebrow, inviting Kirk to say his piece of there was anything left to say."

"Nothing else, sir," Jim said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He suspected that he was not entirely successful.

"Thank you, Cadet Kirk." He turned towards the side of the room. "Yeoman?"

Yeoman Zietala nodded sharply, and she tabbed a switch on her computer terminal. "This concludes today's investigational questioning of Cadet James Tiberius Kirk regarding the crash of the shuttlecraft _Pisces. _Nothing follows."

"Cadet Kirk," Romano said, "you're dismissed."

It was as though a puppet string or tether had been suddenly cut, and Jim felt himself sag in his clothes. _Hold it together. Just another minute._ Coming clumsily to attention, Jim saluted, when the salute had been returned, he executed a dizzy _about-face _and hurried out the door. As soon as the door slid shut behind him, his shoulders slumped as if some unseen weight had finally become too much. All but dragging his feet, he made it down the hall to a small seating area – a few armchairs and small tables in an alcove – and dropped into the first chair he reached.

They didn't believe him.

They didn't think Terra Prime had anything to do with the crash. They weren't really going to investigate the possibility. The lead investigator was Admiral _Romano_, of all people! As if the fates hadn't fucked with him enough. They were questioning his own decision-making process. Admiral Ndungu even seemed to be suggesting – _fuck it all –_ that he'd caused the crash himself! Not a single one of them had shown even the slightest damned hint of support or belief, except Commander Toland, and of all people, why the hell she'd come back to haunt him now was just –

"Mind if I join you, Kirk?"

He didn't want to look up. Didn't want to nod, wave a hand to the seat across from him, and say, _Of course, sir_. Didn't want to let Toland give him a searching gaze while he sat silently, determined not to cringe. But he did all of those things, because he did want to ask her something.

"Commander... why'd you stop me?"

She gaped at him in sarcastic disbelief for a moment before rolling her eyes. "You were smart enough to pick up on the clue, but not smart enough to figure out why, were you?" She leaned in, elbows resting heavily on her knees, and gave him another searching look before speaking in a hushed tone. "Kirk, do you have any idea how tightly locked those records actually are?"

Realizing that this needed to be kept quiet, Jim leaned in and mirrored Toland's posture. "Well... I'm going to guess that Captain Pike did an amazing job of keeping my privacy. And McCoy's, too."

"Damn, Kirk!" she snarled, a breathy, harsh whisper. "And I thought you'd actually learned something valuable last year. Your privacy was part of it, yes, but there was a hell of a lot more going on. Security issues, Kirk. Trust me, the top Academy officials would have loved to tout your name for a publicity stunt. The only reason Pike got them to agree not to reveal your name was because of the security risk. If you leak a tiny piece of information to the public, it's amazing how fast they discover things you didn't want them to know."

"So... politics?" Jim asked dryly.

Toland blew out a slow breath. "In a manner of speaking. People always have reasons for the things they do. Those reasons just aren't always obvious."

_Don't I know it_. Jim pressed his lips together for a moment, considering her, then gave a half-hearted nod. "But some information _was _released to the media, right?"

"Of course," came the flat reply. "We had to tell them something. But do you know how generalized those statements were? Do you know how much information was carefully left out, and how carefully designed the official statement really was? The specific details of the bomb threat were isolated to the Academy's primary communication's lab and array, and the leadership at Archer Hall. Even more information was kept only to the highest levels of Starfleet Security." Her gaze cut like a dagger. "The fact that _you _were involved wasn't released to anyone who didn't need to know. And there you went, almost spilling it to a whole room of people."

Jim dropped his gaze to stare at his feet, because he couldn't quite face her fierce expression. "I figured, with their rank and importance, that they'd know those things."

"They're JAG and Engineering, Kirk. Not Intelligence and Security."

"Then who knew?"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "Captain Pike, Admiral Barnett, the few training staff who were supposed to intercept you for the false abduction, the Awards Committee in Starfleet Command, the people who treated you and McCoy at Starfleet Medical... and me. All sworn to secrecy, Kirk. Yes, for security reasons, but at the end of the day... Captain Pike pushed for it because you requested it. And after all the shit you'd gone through... we thought it was a fair request."

Her voice took on a pained note on the last few words, and Jim had to glance up again. "Then I thank you." Then he frowned. "But what's the good of keeping the secret now if it might have something to do with this investigation?

She leaned in closer, letting him see every ounce of incredulity she was pouring into her expression. "Do you honestly believe that your completely coincidental kidnapping from last year by people who never identified you has anything to do with an engine issue – sabotage or otherwise – in a shuttle you piloted this year?"

"I think there's a good chance."

"For heaven's sake, Kirk, you need to drop that. I know you think the world is out to get you right now, and it probably feels like it, but there's no indication that Terra Prime is involved in this."

"And there was no indication that they were going to blow up the Parisian embassy until it was a pile of rubble!" he hissed. With a groan, he leaned his face into his hands and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to think clearly around the headache starting to throb solidly behind his temples. "I think it's worth considering," he finally said.

"I assure you, we're considering everything. And we're not going to stop until we find out what caused this. But we can't chase leads that have absolutely no supporting evidence. "

Jim pulled his hands away from his face. "Admiral Ndungu seems to think I caused it. Is there supporting evidence for that? Huh?"

"She's aggressive, Kirk, but in case you didn't notice, there was no formal accusation. Admiral Ndungu doesn't pull punches. If there had been evidence, other than circumstantial, then she would have accused you directly instead of just trying to goad more information."

"So do you think I caused it?" he all but snapped.

Toland's gaze was firm and steady. "No."

For the first time since she'd joined him, Jim felt a flash of hope. "Then you believe me?"

"Yes. I do. If not about Terra Prime, then about the sabotage, and there being something in the engine." Then she frowned slightly. "But my personal instinct has no place in an investigation. We're still hunting for facts."

"Facts," Jim said with a bitter chuckle. "Facts. The fact is, Commander, that the person or people who murdered Cadet Tambe are still out there."

"I know." With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair, considering him. "Kirk, you did a damned good job of holding it together in there. You faced down Romano and Ndungu, and just as impressively, Captain Weise. They're a tall order on a good day. But don't think for a moment that I couldn't see what was going on. You've been having memory problems since the crash, and it's not getting better."

Jim snorted. "What gives you such special insight, Commander?"

"I watched you train for a year, Kirk. Those of us who run training simulations learn to read people. We have to. And after watching you in action for a year, I can tell when you're off. The way you were in there today..." Her voice trailed off.

"Oh, I see how it is." He shook his head irritably. "I'm an open book to you. So if you can see that I'm telling you the truth about what happened, then why won't you push to investigate Terra Prime?"

"I can't do that."

Jim looked sharply at her for a split second before staring off over her shoulder at the far wall, trying to pull his nebulous thoughts together. If she wasn't going to flat-out tell him, he could certainly speculate aloud and see if she'd give up anything accidentally.

"If the information withheld from the media last year was a security issue... that must mean we didn't wrap up the deal as neatly as I thought."

"Kirk..." Toland started warningly.

"I'll bet that some Terra Prime operatives didn't die in the blast. Maybe some of..." He felt his eyes widen. "There were four who ambushed us... but only two in the truck when we got out. There were two left behind at campus after they planted the bombs... which means not everyone was in the bunker when it blew."

"Kirk, you're pushing a bit too far here."

"Those are people who would have known my face. And what if they have operatives within Starfleet? Sympathizers? Someone who tipped them off about me, and they decided to get revenge for last year?" A surge of raw nerves started his heart beating faster in his chest. He needed to know. "Commander, what other information from last year was held back from the media? There has to be something relevant to this."

"If it was held back from the media, that probably means I'm not supposed to tell cadets, either." Her voice was like ice.

"Even cadets who were directly involved?" Jim scoffed.

"_Especially _cadets who were directly involved!"

"Then why do I also get the feeling that you don't want me to know _personally_?"

After several seconds of a razor-edged glare, Toland's shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, and resignation crept up on her. "You're right, Kirk – I don't want you to know. And that's because I know you'd read too much into it. And you'd jump to conclusions, just like you're doing now. And then you'd jump into the fray without even knowing what you're getting into."

"Why would you think that?" Jim asked with self-deprecatory scorn.

"Because I watched you do just that... ten years ago."

Jim opened his mouth to ask what the hell she meant by that, but the words died on his tongue almost instantly as his emotions twisted from realization to anger to pure horror in a second. The grim look on Toland's face did nothing to soften the blow. "Don't bring that up again," he growled. "Not now, not ever."

"It's part of who you are now."

"It's dead and in the past. It has nothing to do with this. Not with the crash, not with Terra Prime." He glared at her for a long moment, and she met his gaze, not blinking, not flinching.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

With a lurch, Jim heaved himself out of the armchair and looked down at Toland. "Yeah. So am I. Congratulations on the promotion, sir."

He thought she might have said "thank you," but it was drowned out by his own harsh breathing as he turned on his heel and walked away. Even as he stormed out of Archer Hall and into the surprisingly warm sunlight of the afternoon, the block of ice that had lodged itself in his gut showed no signs of melting. He didn't look back once.

*.&.*


	13. Chapter 13

**NOTES:** Aaaah, the semester is over. I finally have enough time to finish posting this story. Expect regular updates in the coming days, I hope. And now... on with the story!

.&.

"Thanks for meeting me out here, Jim."

Jim rubbed his face and yawned, glanced around the almost-empty hangar, then gave Leonard a look of pure exhaustion. "This is payback for me waking you up the night before that flight, isn't it?" he groaned.

"Nah. I'll get you back for that later."

"Asshole." He held out his hand. "Coffee."

Leonard grinned lightly and placed his spare canteen in the outstretched fingers.

Jim snapped open the lid and took a deep swig before flinching and coughing, then opening his mouth wide and panting. "Ouch! Mother fucker..."

"It's coffee, Jim. It's supposed to be hot."

"Yeah," he grumbled. "It's supposed to be caffeinated. And anything that keeps that caffeine from hitting my bloodstream faster is a problem. That includes scalding hot temperatures." He took a smaller sip, only wincing slightly this time as he began walking towards the flight simulator facility at the end of the hangar.

"Well, I don't prefer to administer stimulants without a valid medical reason, but hyposprays are quite effective for rapid delivery of –"

Jim stopped short and snapped back over his shoulder. "_That _will be quite enough, you trigger-happy sadist." He continued walking.

Leonard sighed and fell into step next to him. "I'm kidding. Not sleeping well?"

"I'm _busy_, Bones! I'm still trying to catch up with classes." He took another sip. "And it's 0500. Humans aren't meant to be awake at this hour."

"That's rich, coming from Cadet Sleep-is-Optional Kirk."

"Bones, please drop it."

Leonard would have loved to drop it, but the dark circles under Jim's eyes were something he'd not seen on the kid in a long time, even while Jim had been in the hospital. He'd seen Jim function on three hours of sleep or less without showing major signs of fatigue... not like this. The kid was hyperkinetic and seemed to run on a perpetual power source. But still, pushing him for details right now wasn't going to help.

Besides, as the door to the sim facility came into view as they rounded the corner, Leonard had other concerns push to the forefront of his mind. He tapped his ID against the reader, then pressed his thumb to the pad.

"_Leonard McCoy, Cadet. Authorization confirmed. Flight simulator Four reserved from 0500 hours to 0630 hours._"

The door slid open, and Leonard walked through, but stopped short as he realized that there were no footsteps following him. He looked back over his shoulder. "Jim?"

Jim was frowning, looking at the ID reader. "It doesn't require me to badge in at the checkpoint if I'm going with someone else. The door is opened, but I haven't been ID'ed by the security system."

Frustrated, and maybe a bit concerned, Leonard walked back to Jim and clapped a hand down heavily on his shoulder. "Jim, you badged into the main hangar, didn't you? And the security guard saw you, right?" He blew out an heavy breath. "Come on, kid. You're over-thinking it."

Nodding warily, Jim followed him into the sim facility. To Leonard's continuing frustration, he didn't seem to relax much as they climbed into the simulator. Taking a sip of his own coffee, Leonard was just grateful that they didn't ban beverages from the simulators. He sat down heavily in the pilot's seat. "So... professor. Where do we begin?" He looked up.

Jim was making no move to sit down. In fact, he was glaring at the copilot's seat.

Leonard furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "Jim?"

As if snapped from a trance, Jim shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry, I was just... thinking." With a deep breath, he flopped into his own seat with his patented fake grin. "So... first step, Bones. For your class, they're only going to require a Level One pre-flight check, not a full system's diagnostic. Start with the navigation computer."

With Jim's voice guiding him, Leonard began moving through the steps he'd been shown in his class. It was easier with a familiar voice guiding him. Still, the nerves hadn't started yet because he was still on the ground, with the door open, and the full knowledge that this was just a simulator.

As he worked, he thought of old-fashioned simulators, where it was so obvious to the pilot that it was nothing more than a glorified computer screen with joystick controls in a pod that only vaguely resembled the actual aircraft. That might have been nice, but it wouldn't do a damned thing to help him get ready for the psychological impact of the real thing.

Modern simulators, on the other hand, felt like the real deal. Looked like the real deal. And until inertial dampeners were engaged after takeoff, you could actually feel the shuttle shifting around you. You could feel the bumps of air turbulance, and the popping of your ears as the cabin pressurized. The image on the viewscreen looked as real as if you were peering out the viewport of a real shuttle. Only the rational knowledge that it was a simulator made any difference. But who said that phobias were rational?

"And finally," Jim said, "cross-check the positioning system with the maneuvering thrusters."

Leonard ran through the last calibration check, and finalized it with a nod. "Cross-check complete. "99.97% accuracy. We're within tolerance limits." He let out a nervous breath through pursed lips. "Okay, so that means it's time to take 'er up, huh?"

Jim nodded. "You've done it in class though, right?"

"It... uh... didn't go so well."

Jim's mouth formed a small "o" as he nodded understandingly. "Well, if you need to panic a bit to get it out of your system, I won't let that affect your grade."

"Why thank you, sir," Leonard drawled. "Your generosity is heartwarming."

Jim looked at him for a moment with a curious smile on his face. "Do what you need to do, old man. You know, I wonder if there's a geriatrics flight program."

"What the hell? _Geriatrics_? You pompous infant." Leonard checked his harness straps with renewed determination. "Just for that, kid, I'll get you back double for waking me up in the middle of the night. And eating my lo mein again."

"Tasty lo mein, Bones. And I think you owe me lunch, seeing as I'm going to miss breakfast."

"You eat your way through the day anyway, kid." He hit the controls to seal the outer doors and airlock.

"But at least it doesn't go straight to my gut. You're gonna get soft, Bones. Especially with all that chocolate cake. You don't burn it off as easily when you get old."

"We're not all graced with the amazing metabolism of Jim Kirk," he snapped back. Sure, he knew Jim well enough to know what the kid was doing, and he had to admit, he was grateful. It was a good distraction from the way his ears popped as the cabin pressurized.

Jim continued to intersperse instructions with banter, and before Leonard knew it, he'd engaged the anti-grav maneuvering system and his "shuttlecraft" was floating twenty meters off the ground.

"Twenty meters... thirty-nine thousand to go," Jim teased.

Leonard growled and activated the atmospheric thrusters. Leonard's eyes were glued to the screen and computer displays as he made adjustments for wind-sheer and entered course corrections. The fake viewscreen showed the surface of the earth dropping away beneath him, and the artificial image of San Francisco disappeared as they moved westward over the ocean - wide open blue skies and steel gray water. It was all fake, but it was still damned realistic, and quite discomforting. Clouds and storms and shimmering water, and _a shuttlecraft wouldn't float if we fell into the ocean, would it_? He shook off that line of thought as the shuttle climbed higher. He could feel the nerves creeping up on him, but he held them back. Jim was here with him, and that helped. The altimeter rattled off data, including atmospheric pressure. "Well, here's the altitude where we suffocate to death," he grumbled.

A split second later, he heard a tight squeak.

"Jim?" He risked a quick glance to the side.

Jim was pressing his back tightly against the seat, one hand gripping his harness, and the other clinging to the copilot's computer panel. Face pale, breathing rapidly.

"Jim?" Leonard asked again, this time more firmly. "You okay, kid?"

Jim let out a tight, shuddering breath, swallowed, and seemingly forced himself to relax. "Sorry, Bones... bad memory, that's all." He choked out a broken laugh. "Funny, I can remember some stuff, but not the rest of it. Can I take a different selection from that menu?"

There had been plenty of times since Leonard had met Jim Kirk that he had found himself speechless, but this was something completely different. The simulator had Leonard feeling uneasy, but the knowledge that it was fake, and having Jim there with him... he'd been doing okay. But Jim was no pillar of strength right now. The attempted fake smile was critically broken, and he was still pale.

With his attention turned to Jim now, Leonard pushed his own self-centered fears aside. "Jim... have you been having problems with flying since the crash?"

"No!" Defensive now. "No, Bones. I haven't even flown since then! How could I be having problems with flying?"

Leonard turned his eyes back to the viewscreen and made a minor course correction. "Have you used a simulator since then?"

There was a pause, just a heartbeat too long. "Six times."

"_Six_?" Leonard couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Jim, you said you came back here for the first time since the crash... last Monday. It's Tuesday. You've been down here six times in eight days?"

"Twice last night."

"Jesus, Jim!" Leonard turned to look at him with sharp disapproval and newfound understanding. "Is that why you didn't get any sleep?"

"Couldn't sleep anyway," came the mumbled reply.

Leonard looked at him for a moment longer. "You never told me how the inquiry board went yesterday." In fact, after Jim had rushed out of the cafeteria, their only communication had been a message from Jim late in the afternoon, asking when Leonard wanted to meet him for flight sim training. Leonard's message asking about the investigation had been summarily ignored. "And is that why you couldn't sleep anyway?"

"Yeah... hell, Bones, can we drop this?" He pointed towards the altimeter. "We're about to break the ionosphere. You need to focus on establishing your orbit."

Frowning, Leonard turned his attention back to the simulator. Jim had come to help him with this, after all, so it made sense to focus on flying for now. He'd ask Jim about the investigation board... _and _his odd panic in the shuttle... later.

However, Leonard did notice one thing. With his concern directed at Jim, his own flight-jitters had almost been forgotten.

*.&.*

Jim yawned and poked absently at his scrambled eggs. He really didn't have the energy to go to class today. Granted, his first class was only at 1000h on Thursdays, but if he tried to take a nap now, he'd never get back up in time for Battle Tactics. He'd managed to get a flight simulator slot at 0600h, and he needed all the re-familiarization he could get.

His flight yesterday had been atrocious.

No, his instructor hadn't noticed. He'd been paired with Okoru, and she had been the primary pilot for the flight. Just a simple orbital maneuvers set. Nothing major. But by the time he'd set foot on solid ground again, his stomach had been roiling in waves of nausea and nerves.

_I might throw up on you._

Yeah, that thought had crossed his mind a few times. It might have been funny... if it hadn't been so painfully accurate. Bones had noticed his nervousness on Tuesday morning, but by the time they'd finished the simulation, he'd been able to refocus Bones' attention on critiques of his actual piloting performance, technical details, and... of course... the hearing.

Oh yeah, that had been fun to talk about. _Heh... and Bones wonders why I'm not getting any sleep. Not only do I have to deal with the bullshit itself, but then I had to hash through it all over again in front of a bunch of brass who seem to think I'm incompetent. _Not for the first time, and he knew it would be far from the last, he wondered why the hell he couldn't just dump all the bullshit in the reprocessor and walk away from it.

He hadn't mentioned the conversation with Toland, however. Bones had never liked her anyway. Right now, he wasn't particularly happy with her himself.

"Morning, Kirk. You gonna eat those eggs, or just stab them to death?"

Jim blinked back to his senses as he realized that Cadet Romano had just sat down across from him. He quickly remembered that there was someone he was possibly _less _happy with than Toland. He tried to force a neutral grin, which he was sure looked more like a grimace. "Hey Romano. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he asked around a mouthful of toast. "Hand-to-hand practice this afternoon?"

Jim snorted and stabbed his eggs again. "It's a review of basic grappling and throws today. Doesn't exactly warrant that much thought."

Romano chugged about half of his orange juice in one go, and Jim found himself disgusted just by watching. And for that matter, why the hell had Romano joined him? They seldom socialized outside of hand-to-hand, or when they crossed paths in the shuttle hangar with their respective flight squads. Had Admiral Romano told his son something?

"I suppose not, Kirk," Romano said as he put down his orange juice. "Classes, then?"

"Classes are fine, man," Jim said, trying to suppress a groan. Why wouldn't he just go away?

"Hmmm." He stuffed a sausage in his mouth and swallowed almost without chewing. "How'd your first real flight back go?"

Instantly, Jim's irritation boiled over. "Why do you care?" he snapped harshly. "I'm back in the air. It's good. I'm going to apply to test for assistant instructor status once I pass the maneuvers unit. Maybe sooner. Anything else you need to interrogate me about?"

Romano looked stunned. His hand stopped halfway to his mouth, fork and all, and a piece of egg fell off his fork onto his plate. "I... good luck? I mean, I didn't want to be intrusive. I was just... concerned."

Jim sat up straighter in his seat and leaned over his plate, looking at Romano sharply. "Concerned? Really? But not concerned enough to mention that it's _your father _leading the investigation into the crash, were you?"

Romano looked like he'd been slapped. Arrogant bastard – served him right. But the slapped appearance quickly turned into pallor. "What?"

"Your father interrogated me in my damned hospital room, Mario!" He didn't want to use the guy's last name, because right now, 'Romano' was the Admiral, and Mario was the bastard who shared Romano's face with a few less wrinkles. Kirk growled in anger, partially at the cadet sitting across the table from him, but also at himself for not recognizing the familiarity sooner. "And then he grilled me two days ago with the investigations board. Come on, don't act like you didn't know."

For several long seconds, Romano sat there, absolutely motionless except for the twitchy shaking motions his head was making. He went about two shades paler. "I... oh fuck... shit, Kirk... I didn't... I had no idea."

"Really?" Jim injected as much scorn as he could into the word.

"Yes, really. I... shit." His jaw had gone slightly slack, and his eyes were unfocused, looking off somewhere over Jim's shoulder.

And oddly, Jim believed him. He didn't want to, and didn't quite know what that meant, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Cadet Romano had no idea his father was leading the investigation. That was just fucking weird. So was the fact that the concept seemed to make Cadet Romano extremely uncomfortable.

He was just about to ask Romano if he knew anything at all about the investigation when a persistent beeping interrupted him. Jim pulled out his comm unit and flipped it open. "Cadet Kirk."

"_Cadet Kirk, this is Commander Toland."_

Jim blinked in surprise. "Sir?"

_"You are ordered to report to the Starfleet Medical Administrative Pavilion, room 1022, at 0830 hours this morning for a formal board of inquiry. Take the trans-bay shuttle."_

There was no familiarity in her voice – absolutely businesslike and distant. Jim swallowed tightly as he checked the chrono on the wall. It read 0802 hours. Twenty-eight minutes. Plenty of time. At least, more time than the last summons he'd received. He held back a sigh and replied neutrally, "Yes, sir."

"_Toland out."_

Jim flipped the comm unit shut and glowered at Romano. "Looks like your dad wants to pester me again. See you at the field house for hand-to-hand." He took some satisfaction in the way Romano flinched.

As he gathered his tray and bag, Jim mused darkly about deja-vu and the administration loving to interrupt meals he wasn't enjoying anyway. He dumped his tray in the reprocessor, hurried out the door, and ran to the transport pad where the next shuttle was already loading. He wondered why this inquiry was going to take place over at the medical campus, and he hoped they didn't intend to question him about his memory and physical recovery. Or worse, to give him grief for his escape attempt from Starfleet Medical.

_This just gets better and better_, he thought as he strapped himself into the seat. He was so irritated and rushed that he almost didn't realize that he was boarding a shuttle until the hatch sealed shut with a heavy clank. Instantaneously, he felt his heart begin thudding furiously in his chest.

_Shit, no. It's just a short transport, Kirk,_ he told himself. _Get a grip. You're not even going to be higher than a hundred meters. Three minutes to cross the bay. Three minutes._

Repeating the mantra to himself, over and over again, Jim managed not to outwardly panic until the shuttle landed on the medical campus shuttle pad. He hated the way his legs wobbled unsteadily as he stood. Cringed to note how his feet didn't seem to want to find the floor solidly, and that he felt out of breath as he walked quickly towards the admin building. The building loomed in front of him, and he realized that the nerves he'd felt on the shuttle were nothing. At least he knew what to expect there. As he passed through the front doors of the building, he realized that he had no clue what they wanted with him today. That was terrifying.

He checked the building map in the front lobby, flashed his ID to the man at the security checkpoint, and was waved through a door to a long hallway. He wasn't late. He still had almost ten minutes according to the chrono he passed on the wall. Would they make him wait outside? Make him sweat a bit? Tell him to come in right away so that he wouldn't have time to think? Maybe he'd stop by the restroom. He had time. He'd just -

"Jim?"

Jim's head snapped around so quickly that his neck twinged, making his eyes water. Blinking furiously, Jim let his mouth fall open in surprise. "_Bones_? What the hell are you doing here?"

Bones stood from the chair he'd been sitting in outside... _room 1022_, Jim realized... and frowned. "I was about to ask you the same question, kid. Hell, it's a Thursday - I figured you'd be sleeping in." The frown turned marginally scornful. "You could use the sleep."

Jim quickly waved that off. No need to let Bones know he'd been awake since... fuck, he had no idea how early he'd woken up, to be honest. It didn't matter. "I got summoned to another inquiry board. I figured they're going to review my whole recovery process, have my memory called into question to discredit my testimony on Tuesday, or lecture me for my escape act." He groaned lightly, closing his eyes. "So that means they're going to have you testify, too, I'm guessing."

Bones took a step in closer, looking around nervously. "They didn't tell you why you were called? Or what they're investigating today?"

"Well, no, but I just assumed -"

"Doctor McCoy, Cadet Kirk." A sharp female voice accompanied by equally sharp heels clacking on the floor interrupted them, and Jim turned to see the woman dressed in a medical corps dress uniform walking towards them. "You're both here, so let's not waste any more time. This way." She continued straight past them and proceeded to the door to 1022, which opened to reveal a formal board room.

Jim cast an inquisitive look sideways at Bones, hoping to get some sort of answer or explanation, but Bones only growled low in his throat and shook his head.

"It's too late for that, kid. Just... come on."

This room was arranged differently than the boardroom Jim had been in on Tuesday. It was actually smaller, just a bit, but seemed more crowded. Instead of one long table at the back wall, there were three shorter tables arranged in a broad U-shape, with a podium just inside the U. A smaller table with three chairs sat off to the side.

The officer who had led them into the room waved a hand at the smaller table, indicating for them to sit down. They'd just barely sat when the door opened again and a group of seven officers filed into the room... all wearing Medical Blues. Jim only recognized one of them - Doctor Livingston, who was now wearing his Captain's rank. Not a single one of the officers wore faculty gray uniforms, or the colors of any other branch. And not a single one of them was Admiral Romano.

Frowning in confusion, Jim looked over at Bones again, meaning to ask him what was going on, but Bones was on his feet, standing at attention. Jim realized he should have done the same when the officers had entered the room, but he'd been too distracted looking for Romano. Quickly, he was also on his feet, hoping he hadn't made things worse for himself already. He was so overtired, and this cell-like boardroom with its muted colors was dragging his eyelids down heavily, making him feel stupid.

The officers had settled around the table, but the admiral at the center of the table that was the crosspiece of the U remained standing. He was slender with a mild demeanor and a pad of dark brown hair that was thinning slightly on top. He seemed like the anti-Romano, Jim thought wryly.

Clearing his throat, the admiral spoke. "Let's get right down to business, shall we? Cadet Kirk, please step forward. Doctor McCoy, you may have a seat." He pulled out his own chair and sat, looking at Jim and waiting.

Jim threw one nervous glance back at Bones as he walked to the podium, feeling extremely exposed. This was awkward. It didn't feel anything like the interrogation from the week before. None of these officers - _all doctors_- were glaring or glowering at him. In fact, they seemed to be looking at him with a bizarre sort of sympathy, which was possibly more disconcerting.

_Don't let your guard down, _Jim told himself as he came to attention in front of the podium and saluted. "Cadet James T. Kirk, reporting as ordered, sirs."

He was met with a dry chuckle from one of the doctors off to the side, but the Admiral in the middle merely returned the salute. "Relax, Kirk. You're not in trouble."

If anything, that caused Jim to tense up even more, even though his stance went to _at ease_. "Aye, sir," was all he said, waiting for more before he revealed anything.

The Admiral smiled at him. "I'm Admiral Swerdlow, head of Neurology at Starfleet Medical. We'd like to know how you've been feeling lately, Kirk."

The simple earnestness on the Admiral's face combined with the unexpected question and Jim couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. "Wait, I got summoned to a board of inquiry, and you want to know how I'm _feeling_?" he asked, almost choking on the incredulity.

"Yes, actually," Swerdlow said kindly. "We need to know the quality of your recovery in order to evaluate the care you've received at Starfleet Medical."

_They want to know if I'm having memory problems... gaps that would cause them to dismiss my testimony. _"I've been fine, Admiral. I'm caught up on almost all of my classes. My grades haven't slipped. I've been back to hand-to-hand training for over a week without any unusual pain."

"Hmmm," the Admiral hummed to himself as he looked over a PADD. "Have you continued to have headaches since you were cleared for full duty?"

_Am I under oath? Fuck it - I'm in Starfleet. I'm always under a damned oath._ "I've had a few headaches, sir, but nothing serious. I've been under a bit of stress, catching up with everything." _And dealing with the investigation bullshit._

Swerdlow nodded thoughtfully, and glanced down at his PADD again. "Minor headaches are normal for a few months after a head injury, as long as the pain isn't severe. Any difficulty concentrating?"

Jim didn't like where this was going, but he'd expected it. "Only when the stress adds up too much. I'll admit, I haven't been getting as much sleep as I should." He blinked as he realized he might have let something slip there. "I mean, I've just had so much catching up to do. Staying up late studying and all."

Admiral Swerdlow's thin lips finally tilted into a frown, and he tapped something into his PADD.

_Shit, shit, shit._

"What about memory problems?" Swerdlow asked neutrally.

Jim plastered on a grin in an attempt to hide his increasing nervousness. "If I was having memory problems, I think my grades would be slipping."

"According to the report I received, Kirk, you've been having difficulty recalling details of your shuttle mission. Is this true?"

Knowing he'd been caught in the lie, he squared his shoulders tried for a look of innocent apology. "I haven't been able to recall that clearly since the day it happened. I remember most of the mission, sir. What I meant is that I haven't had any continuing memory problems. I'm fine, really. The only stuff I can't remember is from the day of the crash itself. And besides, who would _want _to remember something like that, right?"

The thin attempt at humor seemed lost on the Admiral, who only nodded and tapped at his PADD. "That's actually not abnormal at all, Kirk. While any gap in memory is unfavorable, nothing about that particular memory gap is unusual, or cause for medical concern. We just needed to confirm that those are your only memory gaps. So that's good. Very good." He looked up from the PADD again. "Have you had any emotional disturbances?"

"_Emotional_?" Jim blurted incredulously. "One of my good friends just died, sir, so I think I could be forgiven for being just a bit upset."

"That's actually not what I meant." Swerdlow sighed gently. "While this is not the purpose of calling you here today, as a doctor, I would take this chance to make the suggestion that you should seek grief counseling, if you haven't already." He tipped his head forward, just slightly. "Grief after a friend's death, however, is not considered an emotional disturbance... medically, that is. Just like your memory gap from the crash, it's normal. What we would like to know is if you've had any emotional upsets or reactions to things that are atypical for you. Behavioral changes. It would be an indication of how well your brain is recovering from the severe trauma incurred during the crash."

"No, sir, I..." Jim's voice caught, just for a second. He'd never been scared to get on a shuttlecraft before. In fact, he'd always loved flying. It almost seemed hopeful - he could blame the fear on the injury, not his own psychological weakness. And maybe, as the last vestiges of the injury healed away, he'd go back to normal. "Well... I've got to admit, I feel a bit less than fond of shuttlecrafts right now."

A small grumbling noise from behind him caused Jim to look back over his shoulder. Bones was sitting at the small table, looking extremely critical, arms folded over his chest. Quickly, Jim looked back to the officers at the table.

"Okay, so I seem to have developed a slight fear of flying," he admitted reluctantly.

Admiral Swerdlow was nodding slowly, tapping something else into his PADD. "Not unexpected, considering. Not unexpected at all. You experienced a severe physical and emotional trauma aboard a shuttlecraft. Then I would also add a recommendation that you mention your issues with shuttlecraft flight to the counselor you see."

"Am I being ordered to see a counselor, sir?" A sudden sense of fear started churning in Jim's stomach, not about the shuttlecraft, but being ordered to see a counselor. What _other_ issues might be brought up in a counseling session? What dirt from his past might end up in his psych profile? No fucking way – this was a can of worms that did _not _need to be opened. Not with all the other shit going on.

The Admiral's mouth twisted pensively, but he shook his head. "I'm not here to order you to do anything, Cadet Kirk. I'm making a recommendation as a medical professional. We want you to take care of yourself. Treatment for traumatic brain injury has come a long way, but healing takes more than just physical treatment sometimes." He leaned back in his seat, hands spread before him on the table. "But at the moment, we're merely investigating the physical aspects of your treatment here at our facility. Kirk... while you were here, did you experience anything that you felt was detrimental to your treatment? Do you feel that the doctors and nurses here provided the best care possible?"

Jim stared at the Admiral, mouth slightly opened, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to think or say in response. _What is this? A damned satisfaction survey? _No, they were fishing for something, and Jim wasn't sure what. "I was well cared-for, sir. I've never much liked doctors, that's all, so I apologize if I wasn't too keen on hanging around on a biobed for a week. I know I shouldn't have left –"

Swerdlow waved him off. "Kirk, we understand what happened that day. A series of severe emotional upsets after a head injury often lead people to make irrational decisions -"

Suddenly feeling defensive, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "So I wasn't in my right mind?"

Admiral Swerdlow only looked at him sadly. "Medically speaking, no, you weren't. And through no fault of your own. If anything, it's the fault of the staff here for not watching out for your interests more closely."

"You mean like how they weren't watching out for my interests when they let Admiral Romano and Captain Weise start interrogating me right after waking up from surgery?" Instantly, he regretted pushing that far, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear as the hot flush of embarrassment mixed with his defensive irritation. It was as if his brain-to-mouth filter had been switched off. He had to get that under control.

But instead of receiving a dressing down for his lack of decorum, Doctor Livingston merely stood from his seat and faced him. Despite the formality of his dress uniform, he looked uncomfortable and out of place. "Kirk, I'm horribly sorry that I let that happen to you. They insisted that they needed to ask a few questions vital to their investigation, and they were quite persistent. I suppose I didn't see the harm at the time, but I should have. And I should have put my foot down on that one. I don't often deal with the business end of Starfleet here. I'm just here to take care of my patients."

He continued to stand, looking at Jim with such contrition that despite the man's rank and seniority, Jim couldn't help but think of a kicked puppy. Jim suddenly realized that Doctor Livingston had never meant to seem patronizing. The man really was just that gentle by nature. Jim wasn't used to that sort of treatment from anyone. He should have been more appreciative.

_I've got to say something. _"Sir, I understand why you let them question me. I've met both Admiral Romano and Captain Weise. They can be... persistent is a good word. It's fine. You were really good to me while I was recovering. So thank you for that." He tried for a grateful smile.

Livingston gave a weak smile in return and a nod of thanks, then sat down. That let Jim turn his attention back to Admiral Swerdlow.

The Admiral was looking at his PADD, tapping it thoughtfully with his stylus. "So, Kirk, you'd say you feel that you're recovering well?"

_Diplomacy, Jim_. "I've recovered quite well, thank you."

Swerdlow looked up again. "Cadet Kirk... we know that you're friends with Doctor McCoy, but you are also aware that he's a staff physician here. Rare for a cadet to get such a posting, of course, but McCoy came to us with full medical license and a brilliant academic and professional background. He's been an excellent addition to our staff here, both as a functional trauma surgeon and as a researcher."

_Researcher – wait, they're still investigating Bones for something, right...? _"He's my friend, yes," Jim said firmly, making sure each word counted, "but even if he weren't, I know he's good. I wouldn't believe there's a better doctor out there to take care of me or anyone I cared about in a crisis. I know he was working in the ER the day they brought me in. And I know he kept me from bleeding out until more surgeons arrived."

Jim turned halfway back to look at Bones properly, and gave him a grateful smile. "I know I've said thanks, but I mean it. I know you saved my life that day."

Bones, however, was looking quite cranky, which Jim knew meant he was horribly upset about something. He even seemed to be sweating a bit. He made eye contact, just briefly, and spoke in a rough, dry voice, "Don't thank me, Jim. Not yet."

"What? Why?" Jim looked back and forth rapidly between the pale, damp face of his best friend, and the solemn faces of the doctors seated around the room, and reality hit him like a rogue torpedo. _This isn't about me_.

"Kirk," Swerdlow began again, sounding hesitant, "were you aware that the ER was short-staffed that morning?"

Jim could only shake his head, glancing back once more, almost compulsively, to look at Bones again.

"And were you aware that when you arrived, McCoy was the only qualified surgeon on the floor? The lead doctor on duty had been called to assist in another surgery and left the floor, and the other trauma surgeon had left to assist with a minor spinal injury at the Academy infirmary. McCoy and one young resident doctor were the only people available when you first arrived." He shook his head angrily. "Never, in all my years at Starfleet Medical, have I seen such carelessness. Not on the parts of the people who remained on duty in the emergency room, but those who felt it was acceptable to leave the floor so poorly covered... as if something like this couldn't possibly happen. Complacency. You deserved better."

Jim's mouth was painfully dry, and he really just wanted to sit down. "Maybe so," he said carefully. "But I'm alive, and I'm fine. I crashed a shuttle onto an airless planet, and by all rights, I should be dead. And if Bo- McCoy managed to keep me alive until backup arrived, then that's what matters." He squared his shoulders. "McCoy is an excellent doctor." He shook his head, desperately lost in all of this. What did his treatment on the day of the crash have to do with the medical malpractice case against Bones?

"We do give him credit for that feat, Kirk," Admiral Swerdlow said solemnly. "We've also placed several reprimands in the records of the doctors who should have been on the floor, but weren't."

"So, then what this about?" Jim asked. Were they trying to build up a broader case against Bones for whatever else they were investigating? If so, they weren't going to get _anything _from Jim that they could possibly use against his best friend. "Obviously, Doctor McCoy was responsible enough and capable enough to cover an emergency room during a major trauma incident. What could he possibly have done that would cause you to dig into my care that day because of some other thing you're investigating? Because I'll tell you right now, he gave me the best possible care. The fact that I'm alive and standing here right now is proof of that."

There was the scrape of a chair against the floor, and Jim snapped around to see Bones on his feet, walking towards the podium. He came to a stop behind the podium, close enough to reach out and put a hand on Jim's arm. "Admiral, I apologize for speaking out of turn, but he doesn't know. I've got to be the one to say this to him."

The Admiral waved him the go-ahead.

Jim turned towards his friend and spoke just under his breath, "Bones, what the hell is –"

"Jim," he said in a low tone that bore no argument. "Be quiet and listen. I should have explained this sooner. You had enough things to worry about, and I kept telling myself that I'd tell you eventually. Looks like eventually is now." He sighed heavily. "I told you I was under investigation on a malpractice charge. And you know they suspended my research project."

"Just rip off the damned bandage." The suspense was worse.

Bones sucked in a sharp breath, looking at Jim with a thousand apologies. "Your case was the malpractice charge. I used my experimental devices on you." He blinked a few times, and was suddenly looking everywhere around the room except _at _Jim. "There weren't enough surgeons, and you were bleeding too fast, and we couldn't stabilize it. But the head injury was too bad, and I needed to start treating that, too. I couldn't do both at once. So I used my neurovascular regen units."

Jim blinked, trying not to let this revelation shock him, and failing. "You... that was... why didn't you tell me?"

"You already had too much on your plate. I couldn't load this onto you, too."

"You should have told me anyway."

"I know, Jim. But now... you need to understand what this is all about. I used unapproved, untested, experimental devices on a patient... on you. That's malpractice. That's why they launched an investigation."

Slowly, Jim began to nod, trying to put the facts together despite the fact that his mind was still reeling with the shock of it all. "And that's why they suspended your research... because it actually _did _involve your research. You were working on devices to treat head injuries in the field... because of what happened last year. You told me about it." A sudden grin crept across his face. "But that means they worked! Right? You used them in a real emergency and they worked! That's great!"

But Bones wasn't smiling. He shook his head. "They were still experimental. Not approved for use. Not for any reason."

"No, that's stupid," Jim protested. "You had no other options, and you did what you had to. You took a chance, and it _worked_."

Bones shook his head again. "No, Jim. You don't get it. There's a strict protocol about experimental treatments in the field of medicine. Hundreds of years ago, doctors experimented on patients without any sort of guidelines or restrictions. Patients were _used_. Human beings, used as lab rats. We don't do that anymore, and the restrictions are in place to make sure that never happens again. We can't violate those restrictions for any reason. But I did."

"No. _No._" Jim almost reached out to grab Bones by the shoulders to shake some sense into him, but held back. Still, he could feel his fingers twitching. "You didn't... you didn't experiment on me. You did what you had to do. And you saved my life." He swallowed tightly. "And you got hung out to dry for doing it."

Suddenly scowling, Jim stepped back and turned towards the podium. Bones had stuck his neck out to save his life; Jim was more than willing to stick his neck out to save Bones' career. He leaned over the podium menacingly to face the doctors assembled around the room. "I'm sure that each and every one of you has faced a tough case under difficult conditions. Sometimes, you have to make do with what you've got. If those devices, experimental or not, were all McCoy had to work with, and I was going to die on the table, then he made the right call."

"That's why his medical license wasn't suspended," said a female doctor who'd been silent until now. Olive skin under a tuft of curly gray hair, she looked like a world of poise and ferocity under a grandmotherly demeanor. "But what if the outcome had been different, Kirk? What if the devices hadn't worked?"

"Then I'd be just as dead as if he hadn't used them at all, and we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?" Jim shot back, trying not to flinch at the meaning of his words, and hoping he wasn't about to cause even more trouble for himself. Still, this was _Bones_. This was his best friend, and the guy who had saved his life. He couldn't leave this alone. "He did the right thing," Jim said with as much firmness as he could manage.

A male doctor with a dark complexion and a round bald head leaned forward on his folded arms. "Cadet Kirk, congratulations on your newly minted medical degree, but until I see the certification, you'll need to defer to those of us who have been doing this for a few decades. There's no denying that Doctor McCoy's efforts and research are worthy of congratulations, but his application of untried and untested devices on a sentient being was absolutely _reckless_, regardless of the situation. Medicine doesn't work that way. If we allowed it, unchecked, where does it stop?"

Jim felt himself bristling in defensiveness, grasping for words in the face of such a harsh statement. "I may not have a medical degree, sir, but Doctor McCoy certainly does, so he's got the skills and experience to know where to stop. I'd hardly call his actions reckless if they saved my life."

A hand touched his arm, and Jim looked back to see Bones giving him one of those _looks_. "You don't need to defend me. This isn't your fight."

"I don't need to, but I'm going to," Jim replied in an undertone, for Bones' ears only. "You already fought. You fought the day of the crash. And you won. Let me do this."

"I made my decision, and I need to live with the consequences," Bones growled back, just above a whisper.

Jim gritted his teeth. "I _am _living with the consequences, Bones, and I kinda like it over the alternative." He turned back to the other doctors, raising his voice again for the room to hear. "He still made the right call."

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Varying expressions hung from the faces of the assembled doctors – everything from sympathy and agreement to outright scorn. Jim looked around the room, making sure he met everyone's gaze for at least a moment. He was severely outranked, but it was _his_ case in question. _He_ was the patient whose treatment they were debating. If _he _was still alive, and thought that his care had been good enough, then that had to count for something. He was notoriously good at public speaking and debate. He could do this.

"Didn't any of you serve on starships? Long assignments, facing the unknown? New diseases that nobody has seen before? Medical emergencies under bad circumstances without the equipment you need?" A thick silence answered him, but the guilty affirmations were visible on several doctors' faces. Jim nodded. "And sometimes, you've got to use what you have on hand, scrape things together, and think on your feet, right?"

A few heads nodded, some reluctantly.

Jim was starting to feel a foothold on this line of reasoning. "What more could you want from a Starfleet doctor than thinking outside the box, doing what needs to be done, and keeping his patients alive? That's the kind of doctor I'd want on any starship I'd serve on. That's exactly the kinda of doctor Starfleet _needs._"

There was a murmur of consent amongst the assembled doctors – not unanimous, but growing – and Jim was starting to taste the first nibbles of victory when Swerdlow spoke again.

"We also have concerns that McCoy's decision-making process was influenced by the fact that it was a close friend on the operating table." His voice was firm, but not harsh.

"Don't starship doctors get to know the crew?" Jim said determinedly. "Don't they make friends with their crewmantes? Sometimes have to treat them? I'd say that's pretty realistic. and no different than treating a friend here on solid ground. So, if that means he did everything he possibly could to keep me alive, then that's what he'd do out there in the black, and I can't see any reason to object." He was _not _losing this debate!

"We caution our students at Starfleet Medical Academy against letting personal feelings influence their medical professionalism when working on starships," said that female doctor.

"Well, I guess that means if I ever make Captain – presuming good doctors like McCoy keep me alive until then – I'll have to work a bit harder to find a CMO who works as part of the crew, not separate from it." Jim carefully, treading the line between good rhetoric and his own personal irritation. "But I'm sure one or two good Starfleet doctors will slip through the cracks. Besides, in terms of McCoy's actual actions, while he was still working on me, did he actually _do _anything that indicated that his personal feelings caused him to violate his 'medical professionalism'? Or make any decisions differently because we're friends?"

The doctor looked like she'd just bitten into a lemon. "No," she admitted, somewhat tersely.

Jim nodded slowly, looking from her to all the other senior medical staff in the room. "Then don't punish him for saving a man's life."

There was silence around the room for a moment, then Admiral Swerdlow stood. "We'll need a few moments to deliberate. Cadet Kirk, thank you for your time. You are dismissed. Doctor McCoy, please wait across the hall in room 1008. We'll give you our decision shortly."

Bones nodded, looking somewhat numb, and turned to walk out the door. Jim followed him, casting one last scathing glance back over his shoulder at the assembly before the door slid shut behind him. He turned his head back just in time to see Bones walk into the room across the hall, collapse into one of the small couches, and bury his face in his hands.

Jim hurried over and sat down gently next to him. From there, he could feel that Bones was actually shaking slightly. "Bones?"

"You didn't need to argue for me."

"Yeah, I did. You got in trouble for saving my life. How was I supposed to walk away from that?"

Bones didn't respond to the question. "You don't need to stay, Jim." He didn't look up.

With a sigh, Jim rested a hand on Bones' shoulder. "Yeah, I do." He frowned. "Bones... come on, look at me."

Bones shook his head into his hands. It was fair that he wanted to retreat into himself – the guy had a lot riding on this, and was probably quite overwhelmed. But still...

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm so sorry," he said roughly. "I used you."

"Stop that! You didn't use me! Have they been convincing you of that shit? Fuck, you've been in the hot seat for weeks now over this, all because you did everything you could to save my sorry ass, and I just want to know why you didn't tell me."

Bones finally looked up, his eyes desperate and his mouth tight. "I already said... how could I tell you, Jim? You've been busy and overwhelmed and you didn't need anything else to deal with. I've been trying to keep you out of this. By every possible medical standard, I experimented on you." He looked down again, leaning heavily on his knees.

"Yeah, maybe," Jim said cautiously, "But only because you had no other choice. And your experiment _worked_, and it saved my life." He nudged Bones' shoulder with his own. "Bones, I've told you that I want you to be my CMO someday when I've got my own ship. What I haven't told you is that it's not just because we're friends. It's because I know what you're like. You're kind of guy who will throw the rulebook out the nearest airlock if that's what it takes to save someone, and that's what I _want_ in a CMO. Because things go wrong out in the black. Sometimes really wrong. When one of the people under my command... _or _me... is injured, and you don't have all the supplies you need, or you're stuck on a planet without modern equipment, or whatever... I want the guy who's gonna do whatever it takes. And I know you're that guy."

But Bones only snorted, shaking his head to himself. "After all this, the last place I want to go is into space." He cast a sideways glance at Jim. "And judging by your reaction to the flight simulator the other day, it looks like you're not quite as gung-ho as you used to be."

Jim felt a jolt of nerves shoot up his spine, but he shook it off. "I'll get over it. It's temporary. Like the admiral said – the healing process and all, right? So when I go up into space, would you want me going up there without you?"

Bones sat up and gave an appraising look which slowly morphed into chagrined resignation. "Someone's gotta look after your hide."

"Exactly." He reached out and squeezed Bones' forearm. "I'm not angry. I'm _grateful_. Screw those doctors. They know you did the right thing. Let it go."

"You don't feel like I violated your rights, as a patient?"

It was all Jim could do not to laugh. "Where'd you get a line like that? Out of a 'code of doctory things' manual? No, Bones. I told you, I trust you. Besides, if we want to talk about violations, what about that nurse who cut my clothes off? What was his name? Gustavo?"

Bones' face twisted into a look of pained amusement, something just on the edge of either crying or laughing. "Oh, goddammit, Jim."

Jim grinned broadly. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

"Doctor McCoy."

Jim hadn't even noticed Admiral Swerdlow enter the room, and was on his feet only a heartbeat after Bones.

"Admiral," Bones acknowledged sharply, with obvious nervousness pinching his voice like an over-tightened guitar string.

"At ease, McCoy. Relax." He turned a curious eye to Jim. "I shouldn't be surprised that you waited here."

"I don't leave friends hanging, sir. Especially ones who have saved my life."

Swerdlow smiled gently. "Your loyalty is well-placed, Cadet Kirk." He turned back to McCoy, suddenly formal again. "Your record is clean, Doctor. Cleared of all charges."

With an instantaneous shift in demeanor, Bones let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes for a moment before swallowing and nodding. He looked more exhausted now than five minutes ago, but so relieved.

The Admiral continued. "The council decided that you did indeed act in good faith, using the resources available to you when you had no other options. You shouldn't have had to make that decision at all." His mild expression suddenly became darker. "We will be reviewing the policies regarding the staffing of the ER here. It's been a couple of years since any sort of major accident on campus, and people have become complacent. That needs to change. The fact that you held it together with no real backup... McCoy, I couldn't have done better myself. You're going to make a damned fine ship's doctor someday."

Jim grinned and elbowed Bones lightly. Bones merely nodded and gave a watery, "Thank you, sir."

"And now that the investigation is over, I can tell you directly – we reviewed the biobed sensor logs from the trauma room. There's absolutely no doubt that if you hadn't used your devices, Kirk wouldn't have made it."

The sense of encouragement Jim had felt for Bones a moment ago was suddenly pushed aside. He already knew that it had been close. Touch and go. Almost hadn't made it. But knowing now that if it had been any other doctor alone on the ER floor that day... or if Bones hadn't been working on those gadgets of his... that was too damned close for comfort. "_Shit._"

Swerdlow looked at him knowingly. "An accurate assessment, Kirk."

"So..." Bones cut in hesitantly. "If my record is clean, where do I stand?"

"You can resume shifts here at Starfleet Medical as soon as Doctor Xu returns to the Academy Infirmary from her family leave. We weren't actually punishing you with that, McCoy. We were just trying to give you a break from Starfleet Medical. You needed it."

"Yeah." Then Bones frowned. "But what about my research? When can I start that again?"

Swerdlow suddenly looked apologetic. "That's the bad news, I'm afraid to say."

"You're not going to stop the project!" Jim blurted out. "You can't. The devices work. The fact that I'm here _proves _it."

"He's right, sir," Bones chimed in. "This will revolutionize field medicine and first response treatment for head trauma. And now that we know that it works –"

"Now that we know it works, the research will be taken over by an advanced team from Neurology." He tipped his head in apology. "I know it's your baby, McCoy, but... you're too close to the project. After this... if you were to continue working on it, there would be too many questions. Appearances and all."

"Politics, you mean," Bones growled.

The Admiral pressed his lips together and gave one sharp nod. "Essentially. You'll still be listed as the primary designer for these devices. And you will still be able to co-author the research paper."

"But sir... part of my academic program is that I need to _complete _a research project while I'm here. It's part of..." He paused and cast a sideways look at Jim, then sighed. "It's a requirement for those of us who want to get a posting on a starship immediately out of the Academy."

Despite the frustration and sympathetic anger Jim was feeling on Bones' behalf, a spark of something brighter pulled a grin across his face. "Bones?"

"We'll talk about it later, kid," he shot sideways. "So... sir... if I can't run my own research project to completion, what am I supposed to do?"

Swerdlow could only shrug helplessly. "I wish I could tell you, McCoy. That's up to you. But for now, congratulations. You're still a staff member here at Starfleet Medical, and we're proud to have you. And your friend is right – any starship would be lucky to have you on their medical staff." He held out his hand, and Bones shook it automatically.

"Thank you, sir."

"And... if I may say," he said in a different tone, "Congratulations on creating your neurovascular regenerators. They're quite brilliant. I can only wish that I'd thought of it myself. And if it had been up to me alone, I would have let you keep your project. I might have even asked if I could join your team." With a cordial nod, he turned and walked away down the corridor.

For a moment, Bones stood there, not moving, just watching the Admiral's retreating form. When the sound of footsteps had disappeared down the corridor, Bones finally let out a slow breath, looked at Jim sideways, and said, "That's one hell of a compliment coming from him."

"Oh?"

"He's the guy who invented tri-ox compound. A bit of a legend in cellular metabolism research."

"Uh… right."

"Let's just say it's a big deal." Bones shook his head in resignation. "He wasn't here during the first investigation hearing I got called to. But if he likes my research, with the amount of pull he has... he probably helped me dodge a bit of phaser fire here."

"Then I'm glad. But… Bones?" Jim didn't even try to stop the grin from taking over his face. "A starship posting?"

Bones sighed, rolled his eyes, and finally nodded. "I'd been keeping it a secret, you know – that I'm trying for a starship posting. I was going to tell you when I passed my basic flight test. I thought we'd celebrate."

"We can celebrate anyway," Jim said, looking at him with a bit of awe, almost as if seeing him for the first time. Or maybe just for the first time in a while. Sure, Bones was always reminding him that he was a _doctor, dammit_, but Jim had to admit... sometimes, he forgot that Bones was _really_ a doctor, and not just his best buddy with a penchant for hyposprays and hygiene. And on top of that, knowing what he'd gone through, what he'd been keeping to himself, and the burden it must have been… it was a sobering thought for Jim. "Bones... if it hadn't been you... if it had been any other doctor in the ER that day... I would have –"

"You didn't, Jim. Please, kid..." He ran a hand roughly over his face. "Believe me, I've run the scenario over in my head so many times in the past few weeks. Had more than a few nightmares about it."

"Well... thank you anyway."

"You're more than welcome. Just promise me you'll try to avoid putting me through that sort of hell when I become your CMO."

"I'll try." Jim couldn't stop the bright grin that had cracked through earlier from returning. "You'll really do it?"

"I'll try."

Jim laughed and clapped him lightly on the arm. "That's all I can ask." Then he took a step around to face Bones straight on. "But Bones... you said that you don't want me going up into the black without you. That goes both ways. Don't go up without me, okay?"

Bones frowned, then raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Jim looked over his friend's face, and in that moment, reaffirmed his own promise to himself that he would get his assistant flight instructor qualification as soon as he could. And then, he'd copilot with Bones for his test. He wouldn't leave his friend alone to face something that scared him so much. Not a friend who had pulled him back from the brink of death. And if that meant he had to get over his own stupid qualms and get right back into the swing of things, then he would. "Just... don't, okay?"

Slowly, Bones nodded. "Okay, Jim. Okay." He took a slow breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "How bad is it that I want to skip my lab and clinic rotation today and start getting drunk before noon on a Thursday?"

"I'd say reasonable, given the circumstances. Besides, it's 1700 somewhere on every class-M planet that has a rotation of at least seventeen hours."

"That's a fair point, I guess."

"And you know... when I've got my own starship, I can have the chrono permanently set to 1700."

Bones raised an eyebrow. "Jim."

"We should have an open bar in one of the rec rooms."

"Jim."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

*.&.*


	14. Chapter 14

**NOTES:** I'm going to try to post a chapter every other day until all the chapters are up. There are only a few more (19 total), so stay tuned! You should have the whole story before the holiday break is over. To those who celebrate it - happy Christmas! Here's a chapter for you.

*.&.*

It was almost 2300h by the time Jim stumbled back to his own dorm room. Normally, one drink wouldn't be enough to slow him down, but he was exhausted. It had been a long fucking day.

He'd met Bones after their classes and had decided that a bittersweet celebration was in order. Celebration, of course, because Bones had kept his medical license and his appointment as staff at Starfleet Medical. Bittersweet because it wasn't fucking _fair _to have had his research project pulled out from under him. He'd seemed pretty resigned, and overall, not as upset at he could have been. Jim got the feeling that he was angrier on Bones' behalf than Bones was.

And also, there were other things still hanging over his head, but for one night, he swore he wasn't going to think about them. Much.

He needed to get over his damned issues with shuttlecrafts. He was _not _aviophobic – he was just having a bit of trouble getting over a justifiably traumatizing experience. At least, that was the easiest way to think about it. Because if he was aviophobic, then how the hell was he going to pass his assistant instructor test? He need to do this for Bones.

And for Tambe.

And fuck it all, he needed to find out who the hell had caused the damned crash in the first place. Conversations and events had continued to churn in his head, over and over. The things Pike and Toland had said to him, telling him not to investigate, to forget about Terra Prime – who the hell was trying to cover up this shit? Pike had warned both him and Bones from investigating, and so far, he'd kept his nose out of it, but it bothered him. What was Pike trying to protect them from? Was someone in the Academy command structure possibly a spy for Terra Prime? Was it so dangerous that Pike needed to warn him away to protect him? Because Pike would never cover up for the people who had caused the crash. Jim was sure of that, if nothing else... because if that wasn't true, then he was beyond fucked.

For now, he'd listen to Pike. For now, he could wait and see what the investigation team discovered. For now, as much as he was pissed at Toland, he suspected that she really did mean to help him, and that she wanted to find the truth in this investigation. He could trust that... for now.

He couldn't focus on that tonight, though. No, tonight had been for Bones, and it had been good to let some of his worries slip to the background, just for a few hours. Maybe he could even get a night of sleep without having half-formed dreams of shuttle crashes and chasing shadows and engines with holes in them.

So, after too much udon and sushi, and much less sake than Jim had wanted, they'd made their way back to campus, resigned to the fact that they'd both have to face Friday on much too little sleep. They'd parted ways at the campus gate, and Jim had made the walk back to his dorm alone.

Jim was ready to tiptoe into the room in the dark so as not to disturb his roommate, but to his surprise, the lights were on. Sven was awake, kneeling in front of his desk, and he seemed to be up to his elbows in a cleaning project. There were wires and capacitors strewn around him on the floor. In fact, judging by the way he startled, he wasn't expecting to see anyone.

"Hey, Sven," Jim said easily as he toed off his boots. "Why so jumpy?"

"I didn't expect to see you back tonight," he said curtly as he stuffed some wires and circuit chips into a box and slapped the lid down. "When you leave campus with that doctor friend of yours, you usually stay in his room for the night."

"Well, we usually head out on Fridays or weekends, so it doesn't matter if I crash on his couch. But he's got clinic in the morning, and I've got class. We just went out for dinner. Celebrating." He unzipped his jacket, holding back his smirk at Sven's mediocre social skills. "Sometimes going out is healthy, you know. You should try it – going out."

"Perhaps. Yes." He stood, picking up the box, then he wrinkled his nose. "But I'm quite busy. Not all of us can maintain our academic standings while appearing so careless. It seems to be a talent of yours."

"Hey, hey!" Jim held up his hands innocently. "I work hard to maintain the appearance of careless talent."

Sven only gave him a sharp look before turning and placing the box on his bed. "Some of us have high aspirations, and trying to look sloppy is not conducive to reaching that goal."

_Not conducive to... who talks like that? _Sven had the social skills of class-four computer. Jim shook his head in amusement, wondering what the guy would be like if he ever got drunk. "Don't worry about me – I know what I'm doing. And based on the fact that you spend every spare hour in the engineering labs, I'm sure you'll do just fine with your professional appearance. But you should still get out once in a while." He went over to his closet and pulled it open, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from a drawer. "And what are you doing up this late? Usually, you're in the lab or asleep by now. Doing a bit of cleaning?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "We're changing our project, so I'm clearing out some old equipment from here to make space for the new supplies."

"Fair enough." Jim threw his socks and trousers into the laundry refresher and pulled on his sweatpants. "But will I be able to turn off the lights soon? I've got an early-morning flight sim slot, and I've got to be awake at 0500."

Sven was throwing some more equipment into another box. Power packs, sensors, and miniature field generators, from what Jim could tell. The usual engineer modeling junk. "I'm bringing this back to the lab now, to the storage locker. I'll be quiet when I come back in." He stacked the smaller box on top of the one he'd placed on his bed.

Jim frowned. "Need a hand with those?" He tugged the clean t-shirt over his head and took a step towards the boxes. "That looks kinda heavy."

Sven turned his body between Jim and the boxes and lifted them off the bed with a grunt, skinny arms straining with the weight. "That won't be necessary."

"Okay, I get it. It's a man thing." Jim winked and took a step back. "See you around."

"Later." With another grunt, he made his way out the door.

"Weird guy," Jim said to the empty room as he pulled his bedsheets back and climbed in. _But at least he's clean. Does his laundry, doesn't leave food lying around, and doesn't bring girls back to the room... not that they'd have him, the way he never socializes._ "Lights." _Of course, there are rumors about what the engineering cadets do on leave..._

Chuckling to himself, Jim pulled the blanket up over his shoulder as he rolled onto his side. He needed to get some sleep. It was going to be an early morning.

*.&.*

Jim yawned as he tucked his PADD into his bag. His Friday afternoon lecture – Interspecies Ethics – was as dry as ever. The subject matter was interesting, but it was being taught by a Vulcan professor, and Jim was certain that his personal mission was to bore the class to death from sheer lack of emotion. So between the lack of sleep and the lack of excitement, Jim had been surprised there wasn't drool on his arm when he pried his head off his hand at the end of class.

But the week was over. The exhausting, miserable, gut-wrenching week was over. Well, maybe it wasn't so bad, but had definitely been exhausting. Unlike most Fridays, when he was looking forward to some social time, all Jim really wanted was to go back to his room, have a drink, and call it an early night.

Bones had been right – he'd spent far too much time in the flight simulator in the past week. It was almost compulsive. Sure, it made him miserable, but he _had _to get over this. He needed to take the assistant instructor exam. And he needed to be a real part of his flight squad again.

_My flight squad_. He actually felt guilty. He'd meant to spend time with them at some point, but he couldn't. Sure, they were all upset about Tambe, but nobody else was afraid to get back in the shuttle. He was holding the team back. They were already down to five, but without him, how could they even pretend to be a proper squad?

What would happen to Nova Squadron? What would happen to the promises they'd made each to other? The thought hit Jim bitterly. Sure, plenty of squads promised themselves that they'd be something amazing together – team for life and all that. It's just that Jim was sure Nova Squadron really meant it. They'd already figured out their course schedules to take Advanced Flight Maneuvers next semester as a group, when they'd move to single pilot crafts. Sure, they all had to qualify for it, but they'd never doubted that they'd be able to do it. It would be incredible. They'd be incredible.

And now, they weren't even a full squad, much less a squad for the history books.

Even worse, Jim could barely bring himself to face them.

The board of inquiry on Tuesday was still gnawing at the back of his mind. The insinuation by Admiral Ndungu that he might have caused the crash... it had horrified him at first, but now, it seeped through his thoughts like a nauseating fog. He refused to believe it, but he couldn't pretend it had never been said.

It was okay, Jim told himself as he made his way down the stairs from the upper lecture hall seats and into the main atrium. As soon as the investigation team found their answers, this would all be laid to rest. He could put it behind him, finally, and get his mind back on the task of living the life that had almost been lost, and trying to live it fully enough for Tambe, too.

The afternoon was already darkening with clouds as he left Cochrane Hall, and he hunched his shoulders against the wind. The air smelled like rain, and if he got back to his dorm quickly, maybe he wouldn't get soaked. That was the last thing he needed. As tired as he was, even with all the marvels of modern medicine, he was sure he'd still come down with a cold if he got caught out in the rain on a day like today.

He grinned half-heartedly. Bones would surely give him hell for that.

He was halfway across the main quad when his comm chimed. Bones, maybe, angling to invite him over for the drinks they hadn't had the night before. Smiling tiredly, Jim pulled his comm from his bag. "Kirk here."

"_Kirk, this is Captain Pike._"

Jim jolted to a stop. "Captain? What's going on?" There was something distinctly uncomfortable about Pike's tone of voice.

"_I'd like you to meet me in my office._"

"Am... am I... what's going on, sir?

"_I'll explain in person. Please report promptly._"

Jim stammered for a moment before swallowing his questions and objections and simply said, "Okay, sir."

"_Good. Pike out._"

Jim closed the comm and slipped it back into his bag. His lethargy from a moment ago was gone, replaced by a cold sensation in his gut that matched the wind cutting through his clothes. Pike had sounded angry, so this couldn't be good. Jim had no idea what was going on, but as he looked through the thin fog at Archer Hall on the far end of the quad, he knew there was no avoiding this.

Tucking his bag tight under his arm, he took off at a jog across campus, feeling the first cold drops of rain beginning to pelt against his face.

*.&.*

Leonard's breath was quick in his chest as he hurried across the floor of the hangar. Really, he wanted to be collapsing onto his couch in his room right about now, to sit back, put his feet up, and thank whatever gods were listening that the week was over. But no. He needed to find Jim.

It was Pike's call that had sent him scrambling from the clinic to the shuttle hangar on the other end of campus through the pouring rain. Whereas the infirmary was on the main campus of the Presidio, the shuttle hangar was on Crissy Field, and Leonard hadn't had the patience to wait for a campus transport. At least it was downhill. And at least he'd checked the weather grid for the day and had taken his parka.

Somehow, he doubted Jim had remembered his.

At this hour on a Friday, the hangar was all but deserted. A few maintenance engineers and Academy staff members cast curious looks at him as he hurried towards the back corner of the hangar where the flight simulator facility was located, but everyone left him alone. It was just fine with him. The only person he needed to deal with that night was Jim.

Apparently, Pike had given Jim some rough news that afternoon, and he hadn't taken it so well. Not that Leonard could blame him.

The investigation had been closed.

They'd given no reason why they closed the investigation. No word on who had sabotaged the shuttle in the first place. No mention of whether they'd even found the saboteur at all. Just... nothing. Closed. That was the only information Pike had gotten. Therefore, that was all he could tell Jim, and based on the reaction, it hadn't gone over so well.

And as soon as Pike had given Jim the news, the kid had taken off. Pike had tracked him via his communicator to the flight sim facility, and suggested that maybe Leonard would have better luck talking him down. Pike was probably right about that... but it didn't mean it was going to be easy.

Leonard swiped his ID badge over the security checkpoint at the door to the flight sim facility. A quick look around made it obvious where Jim was. Wet footprints led the way to the only simulator that was active.

"Dammit, Jim," Leonard sighed aloud. The kid had _definitely _not brought a parka, and was probably soaked to the skin. And it was freezing outside.

Not wanting to just barge in, Leonard wanted to get some idea of what he was facing before he opened the door. Feeling only marginally guilty, he pulled up the access screen on the exterior simulator controls and entered his medical access code. Instantly, the basic biosign readouts on the occupant began to scroll across the screen, along with a video feed of the interior of the simulator.

Jim was sitting in the pilot's seat, hair wet, clothes drenched. His face was wrought with emotion, but his jaw was clenched, holding it in check. If anything, the tightly reined-in fury seemed to be keeping his other emotions at bay. His heart rate was too fast, respiration shallow, and body temperature... _Damned kid's running a fever already_. That was all the biosensors showed on these things, but it was enough. Mostly, it was Jim's eyes that said it all: wild and reckless above the tight clench of his jaw, with lines of stress across the rest of his features.

Jim was minutes away from blowing a fuse or breaking down.

With a regretful sigh, Leonard tapped the comm unit. "Jim. It's time to come out of there."

Inside the simulation, Jim jerked in his seat as if he'd been shocked. "Wha... wh – Bones? What the hell are you – wait... _no_."

"Yes, Jim. You've had enough."

Jim's eyes searched around the cabin of the simulator, quickly finding the vid lens above the viewscreen. He glared up at it furiously. "You have _no idea _what enough is, Bones. You're damned right I've had enough, but the world doesn't give a shit about that, so neither do I."

Leonard took a steady breath. "Maybe I give a shit, Jim."

"If you did, you'd let me finish this sim!" he snarled, eyes returning to the control panel and viewscreen. "I've got to do this, Bones. I need to pass my exam. My flight squad needs me, now more than ever. If those bastards aren't even going to finish the investigation, then Nova Squadron needs to be as strong as we can be, and we can't keep the team together if I can't handle flying!"

_So that's what some of this is about_. "Jim, believe me, I understand some of what you're going through, and I can help you."

"Help me, Bones?" He glanced back up at the lens. "You've already helped me. You saved my sorry ass after you told me not to come crying to you when I crashed the fucking shuttle."

Leonard's stomach clenched. "Jim, you know I didn't mean that."

"You said it. And you were right – I should have been better. I should have prevented the crash. I mean, what if... if I..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head sharply and turned his attention back to the flight sim.

"Jim, if you don't come out of there on your own, I'll need to override it."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," Leonard said as calmly as possible. "Come out of there."

"Like hell I will."

Shaking his head sadly, Leonard tabbed in the medical override code. A split second later, all the lights on the control board in the simulator cabin went dead, and the overhead light came up to normal levels. Jim's hands hesitated over the controls as he looked around himself frantically then furiously, then he slammed his hands down on the control panel.

"Bones! What the fuck are you doing?" He glared up at the vid lens. "Put it back."

"I can't do that, Jim." As a doctor, he couldn't let Jim continue. As a friend, he simply wouldn't. With a sigh, he activated the hatch to the sim pod, and a moment later, a furious Jim Kirk was chest-to-chest with him, snarling angrily.

"Why the hell did you do that? Huh?" From this distance, it was impossible to ignore the bright red splotches of fever on Jim's cheeks, the unfocused look in his eyes. He wasn't all there. Leonard had seen Jim angry a few times, sure, but never angry at him, not like this. "After a fucking bullshit day like today, all I needed was to focus on something, and you had to go and rip that from me!"

"I'm about to rip you a new one if you don't pull your head out of your ass." Knowing he was walking a volatile line, he put his hands on Jim's upper arms, gripping just firmly enough to make it clear that he wanted Jim's undivided attention. He inwardly cringed at how soaking wet Jim's uniform was. "Punishing yourself like this isn't going to help, Jim!"

Just as quickly, Jim yanked his arms out of Leonard's grasp, stumbling a couple of steps back, breathing heavily. "Punishing my –" He cut himself off, shaking his head with a crazed sort of laugh. "Maybe I deserve the punishment."

Leonard frowned as he watched a haunted look creep into Jim's eyes. "What? How the hell do you deserve a punishment? Good God, Jim, you've been through hell in the past few weeks. And you're making yourself sick. You're soaked to the skin, you're running a fever, and –"

"But I crashed the shuttle, Bones." There was something broken and wrecked in his eyes, behind the crazed front. "I did exactly what you warned me not to do. I did something reckless, and I crashed the shuttle. And I killed Tambe."

"_What_?" Leonard balked, then took a hesitant step closer to Jim. "How can you think that? You've been shouting about sabotage since the moment you regained consciousness over a month ago. Don't tell me you've changed your mind about that."

"No!" Jim snapped, just a bit too quickly, then with a choked sound, "No." His eyes narrowed. "I know someone screwed with the shuttle engine. But they'll never prove that now, will they? Never confirm it, never let us know. They've closed the investigation and sealed the files. I can't crack any of them! There's no information available, no way for me to start my own investigation, and all I'm left with is knowing that the shuttle went down and _I was flying it_ and... _fuck_!"

Jim turned and slammed his hand angrily against the wall of the simulator. And again, harder. With a growl, he hauled back his hand and went to smash a closed fist into the panel, but with a desperate lunge, Leonard grabbed his fist and spun him around. "Dammit, Jim get a grip on yourself!"

"Fuck... Bones, let go!" He gave a half-hearted tug, but Leonard held fast, and Jim seemed to sense that a physical scuffle wasn't what he needed. Instead, he glared at Leonard, eyes narrowed. "And besides, why the hell should I 'get a grip' of myself, huh? I've already managed to fuck it up pretty good. I haven't had a grip on myself in a good long while, and you know it."

"You've been recovering, Jim," Leonard said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yes, you're a bit shaken, but you can get help. After the shit you've been through, you've got every reason to –"

"No fucking way! I'm not going to see a damned counselor. I'm not going to let myself be that weak again, Bones, with everyone else doing things to me and telling me what to do and controlling everything. I can't! I've had enough of that, enough of being someone… some_thing _that needs to be fixed. I'm going to fix myself this time."

"Oh, so this is how you're going to do it, huh?" Leonard actually let go of him and took a step back, appraising. "You're going to work yourself into a frenzy, punching walls and skipping sleep, scaring yourself with too many flight sims, blaming yourself for something that's not your fault, and making yourself sick. Great plan, kid. And what will be left when you're done? Do I get to pick up the pieces when you go too far?"

For a split second, Jim almost looked stunned enough to stop, but then his eyes narrowed. "This has nothing to do with you, Bones."

"The hell it doesn't," Leonard growled low in his throat. "Next-of-kin, Jim? You didn't even want to speak to your mother, but you put me on your living will? You bet your damned rawhide this has to do with me. And whether you want me to or not, I _will_ be here to pick up the pieces. But maybe, kid, just _maybe_, you'll take a step back before it goes that far, and you'll realize that this isn't just about you either."

Jim stared at him incredulously for a moment, and then suddenly started to laugh. Leonard hadn't heard a sound like that since his rotations in a psych ward while getting his Ph.D. It was blood-curdling. "It's _always_ about me, Bones! Don't you get it? It's _always me_." He took a few dizzy steps back, and started pacing. "Sure, the universe kicks everyone in the ass a few times, but with me, it never fucking stops! Every time I think I've caught a break, every time I think things might get better, something else sends it all crashing down. Even if I come out of it in one piece, it rips just a little bit more, cuts a little bit deeper. And it _never stops_."

He finally stopped pacing and leaned one arm against the wall of the simulator, pressing his forehead against the back of his hand. "I'm fucking _scared_, Bones." The anger was gone from his voice, suddenly replaced by something rougher, more primal. "A couple of months ago, I thought I was fearless. Got this crazy notion that I had some of my father in me. Had what it took to be a hero, or some stupid shit like that. Now, I've being reduced to a pathetic coward by a flight simulator, and I have no idea _why_. My teammate is _dead_, and I can't even prove to myself, or anyone else, that it wasn't actually my fault. The people I'm supposed to trust to find who did it, and catch him… they've quit! Pike's got no answers, I don't know what's going to happen to my flight squad, and it's so fucked up I don't even know where to begin!" He finished with a pained snarl, slamming his forearms against the wall, then bowing his head for a moment before looked sideways at Leonard. "What am I supposed to do?"

For a long moment, Leonard stared at Jim. He wanted to paint a bright picture of Jim's myriad of talents and loyal friends. Wanted to tell the kid that he just needed to take a deep breath, give himself time to recover, and keep doing the amazing work he'd done since the day Leonard had met him, and that everything would work itself out. And would love to tell him to just step away from the flight simulator, come have a drink, and laugh about it in the morning. But he couldn't.

No simple, sugar-coated answer was going to fix this. This wasn't the sort of wound you could dress in a bandage and leave to heal. Instead, cautiously, Leonard stepped towards Jim and slowly wrapped one hand around Jim's wrist, guiding him away from the wall. Oddly, Jim didn't resist as strongly as Leonard had expected. "Jim… you need to give yourself a break here. You've worn yourself ragged. I'm gonna guess you've had less than twenty hours of sleep all week. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Maybe," Jim said warily, easing his wrist out of Leonard's grasp.

Leonard let him, but kept held his gaze firmly. "There's no excuse for them dropping the investigation. I don't have a damned clue why, and based on what Pike told me –"

"Pike!" Jim's eyes went wide. "He sent you here, didn't he?"

"He did," Leonard said flatly. "Or more to the point, he told me what he told you. I figured you wouldn't take it well, so I had him tell me where you went."

"Oh."

"_So_… based on what Pike told me, he doesn't know why they dropped the investigation either. Even though he's not part of it anymore, he's got someone feeding him information."

"Commander Toland," Jim said quietly.

Leonard felt his eyebrow jump up. "That… makes sense," he said vaguely, remembering seeing her outside Jim's hospital room. "And from what I could tell, even his informant doesn't seem to know why the investigation was dropped. It happened really suddenly. But… there's nothing you can do about it."

"But –"

"No, kid… don't. Sometimes, that's just the way it is, and the hardest part is that you have to accept it. There's nothing you can do about the investigation. _But _–" He took a step closer to Jim. "You can keep your squad together –"

"Not if I'm too scared to fly," Jim grumbled.

"– and get your fears under control –"

"That's rich coming from Mr. Aviophobia himself."

"Dammit, Jim – be quiet and listen!" He shook his head to himself, trying to reset his thoughts. "Control the things you can. The investigation isn't one of those things. The crash itself wasn't one of those things. Your _reaction_ to it, however, _is_." He stood a bit straighter, giving Jim a level gaze. "I'm going to help you."

Jim blinked twice, and shook his head incredulously. "Wait, _you're_ going to help me with this… this flying _thing_? Bones, I was supposed to help _you_."

Leonard nodded, putting the pieces together in his mind as he spoke. "Maybe you still can. Jim, I'm a doctor. Helping people… it's my comfort zone. Maybe if I can help you with your _flying thing_, as you put it, I might be able to help myself in the process."

"Help each other?" Jim asked, a bit less defensive this time.

"Something like that, kid." He gave a thoughtful half-grin. "Besides, I need a new research project. How does 'Aviophobia: Treatment Approaches for the Unorthodox Patient' sound?"

"Like you want to turn me into a lab rat," Jim said flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'd be studying myself, too." He grinned a bit wider. "I have to do my research project in one of my medical specialties. I'm a trauma surgeon, Jim, but I've got a Ph.D., too. Psychology."

"Maybe more of a guinea pig."

"I could give a conference on aviophobia for a final project," Leonard said, feeling the sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of a new academic challenge. "Come on, Jim. You want to get back to your old self, I want to pass the goddamned flight requirement, and I need a project. What do you say?"

Jim stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Squeak, squeak."

Leonard snorted. "I'll take that as a yes. But before we do anything else… dammit, Jim, we need to get you out of those clothes." He grabbed Jim by the arm, pulling him close and pressing a hand against Jim's forehead as he started steering him towards the door. "I don't need a damned scanner to know you're running a fever. Come on, I'm taking you back to my room and giving you an anti-pyretic – and I don't want to hear one complaint out of you about the hypospray. You're the one who had to go out and get yourself soaked to the skin. I keep telling you to keep your parka in your bag, but the day you listen to me –"

"Bones?" Jim interrupted gently.

"What, kid?"

"Don't ever change."

*.&.*

The weekend crept by under a thick blanket of fog and rain. Subdued, quiet, and just what he needed, Jim realized.

Jim woke up on Bones' couch Saturday morning to the persistent splatter of heavy rain against the window and an empty dorm room. There was a note in the kitchenette by the coffee maker, letting him know that Bones had a short clinic shift that morning. So Jim wasted the morning curled up on Bones' couch with his PADD, studying, only leaving once to grab to-go lunches from the mess hall. Bones came back from clinic and they both settled into an amiable silence, suffused only by ongoing tapping of rain on the window. Bones thanked him for the lunch and ate quietly. Jim had no major inclination to leave; the weather was too miserable to bother going into the city, and Bones seemed quite satisfied with staying put.

Jim didn't ask Bones about going down to the flight simulators. Didn't want to push his luck. It wasn't as if he didn't have work to do. He had a report due for his Ethics class, and he'd learned quickly that Vulcans liked their reports wordy. It was more than enough to keep him occupied. Besides, based on the way Bones was completely focused on his PADD, despite his lazy sprawl across his bed, the guy was up to something.

The pleasant silence continued until the sun went down. Finally, Bones looked out the window, then over at the chrono on the wall. He stood, stretched, and said, "Okay, Jim. Put your boots on. And grab your damned parka this time."

The sudden announcement surprised Jim, but he was on his feet faster than even he'd expected from himself. "Yes, sir!"

A grumble and a raised eyebrow. "Cut that out, kid."

"Sure thing, Bonesy."

He grabbed a small case and tucked it into his ever-present messenger bag, scowling fiercely. "You know, there _are_ways to temporarily paralyze a human's vocal cords."

Jim snapped his mouth shut, still grinning, and followed Bones out the door.

It was cold and miserable outside, but Jim had to admit - the parka was quite effective. As usual, Bones was right. Of course, Bones' cure for his chill-induced fever the previous night hadn't been quite as bad as he'd promised. No hypospray - just a warm shower and a mug of hot chocolate. And damn, Bones could make good hot chocolate. Maybe, Jim pondered, he could finagle another round tonight without getting soaked to the skin first. One stupidity-induced fever had earned him a hot chocolate; the second probably _would _get him an unceremonious hypospray to the neck.

Jim was only slightly surprised to find that Bones was indeed leading him to the shuttlecraft hangar. When they arrived at the flight sim facility, there were only a couple of other simulators active. Usually, Saturdays were busy with cadets trying to hone their skills, but Jim guessed that nobody wanted to leave the warm comfort of the dorms on a day like today.

He shed the parka and looked over at Bones, who was already entering some data into the flight simulator he'd reserved. "So... what's the plan?"

"The plan," he began softly, "is to go for a flight." He finished tapping something into the control panel and the hatch slid open.

Jim frowned. "That's it? I mean... isn't that what you told me I've overdone lately? Bones?"

Bones didn't reply, but made a sweeping gesture, indicating for Jim to get his ass into the flight simulator. A moment later, Jim was ensconced in the pilot's seat, and Bones was shuffling in behind him. However, instead of sitting directly in the copilot's seat, Bones dropped his bag on the seat and pulled out the small case he'd grabbed before leaving the dorm room.

"Hey? What's that?" Jim craned his neck to see, but Bones just glared at him.

"What have I been telling you about patience, kid? Relax." He opened the case and pulled out an small, odd-looking device. "I grabbed these from the clinic this morning." He reached over towards Jim's neck, holding the thing pinched between his fingers.

Instinctively, Jim ducked away. "Whoa, whoa! What's that?"

Bones sat back, shrugged, and stuck the device against his own neck. "It's just a sensor, you big baby. Take a look." He held out his PADD and tapped in a few commands. A second later, a readout which was obviously a very basic set of vital signs popped up on the screen. "Have you ever heard of biofeedback?"

Jim frowned, looking between the small sensor on Bones' neck and the readout on the PADD. "Sounds familiar. What is it?"

"Really, _really _old technique that people used to use to help confront the physical reactions they have due to phobias, as well as tons of other medical issues. And it worked, without drugs or other invasive therapies, so people still use the technique today. Of course, we've streamlined it, simplified and improved it over the years." He grinned and rested the PADD on the control board. "The idea is that if you can see what the stress is doing to your body, you can learn to control your reaction physically. It's basically a way to learn to control your own body." He gave Jim a meaningful look. "You actually gave me the idea for it yourself."

"Oh?" Jim asked warily. "How's that?"

"Because you're a control freak. And don't give me that look - it's usually works out in your favor." He tapped the sensor on his neck. "This gives you a window into what your own body is doing... how it's reacting to something... so you can control it yourself."

"Control it myself?" Jim echoed, curious now. "So this doesn't _do _anything to you? It just... it's just a sensor?"

"No, kid, it doesn't do anything to you. And look... this one's extremely simple. It only measures heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure. There are more complex sensors available, of course, but for today, this is plenty." Bones pulled it off his own neck and held it out.

Jim looked at the sensor skeptically. "What do I do?"

"Mostly, you try to stay calm," Bones said easily. "I'll coach you as we go, but basically, you'd just keep an eye on your own heart rate and breathing. If either of them gets too fast, the program alerts you. You focus on your own body and slow it down again. For today, we'll keep it really simple, just to give you a feel for it. As you progress with time, I'll teach you techniques for controlling your breathing and your own heart rate so that if you start to panic, you can bring it back down again. We'll work with some cognitive techniques, too. You control everything, Jim... including yourself. That's the whole point."

For a long moment, Jim surveyed Bones critically. "So... if you know about all this stuff, and you're a doctor... why did you almost throw up on me the day I first met you?"

Bones rolled his eyes and grumbled. "Because I'd never expected to join Starfleet, or have any other reason for my feet to leave the ground, so I figured it didn't matter if I was less than fond of these flying tin cans. Plus..." He pressed his lips together in chagrin. "I'm stubborn."

Jim chuckled. "Makes two of us."

Bones nodded and pulled the sensor off his own neck, holding it out towards Jim. "So... you up for it?"

Jim stuck his lower lip out and shrugged. "Sure." He tilted his head to the side, but couldn't quite suppress the shiver and flinch as he felt the sensor latch on to his skin. "So now, what do we do?"

"Well," Bones said easily, activating the shuttlecraft controls, "You're going to pay attention to your own heart rate and breathing as we go through this simulation, and try to control both of them. I'm going to make observations. And _we _-" He started the preliminary engine diagnostic cycle. "- are going for a ride."

Jim actually found himself laughing as he began the pre-flight checks and powering up the engines.

The flight simulation Bones had programmed actually surprised Jim. They didn't even break the lower atmosphere. It was a short maneuvering flight over low, familiar terrain. Sure, Jim felt the odd, uncontrollable fear threatening him a few times, but as his own heart and breathing sped up, the PADD beeped at him, and he focused so carefully on controlling the physical response that the rest seemed to fall into place.

"That was pretty good, Bones," Jim said as he engaged the landing cycle. "Maybe you've got a pretty good idea here with this biofeedback thing."

"Of course it's a good idea. That's why they gave me a medical license," he said confidently.

"Careful, Bones – if you get too cocky, you're gonna start sounding like me."

"Oh God, I hope not."

"Could be worse," Jim teased. He was quiet as he made the final maneuvers and landed the shuttle on the designated spot on the simulated landing pad, then breathed a satisfied sigh. "That was a really short sim," he said as he unstrapped his harness. "Maybe we could go again. Try a higher maneuver? Orbit?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Jim. The whole idea behind this is only pushing your comfort zone in _tiny _increments, and never letting yourself get beyond the point where you're comfortable controlling your reactions. Otherwise, it doesn't work." He reached over and detached the sensor from Jim's neck. "You did really well today, kid."

"Thanks. Good enough for your project?"

Bones gave him a look, then tucked the sensor back into his case. "Good enough for you is good enough for me. How do you feel?"

Jim smiled. "Fine, Bones." And he meant it. "But you know... just in case I'm still suffering at some level, I might need another dose of that hot chocolate of yours. You could cure a rainy day with that stuff."

Bones smiled and looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Maybe I can, Jim. Maybe I can."

Bones couldn't quite cure a rainy day, but Jim concluded that he was pretty damned good at relieving the symptoms. And so Saturday faded into Sunday - another relaxed day of hiding from the rainstorm, broken only by meals and one flight sim.

This time, they went a bit higher. Not quite orbital, but upper atmosphere. And Jim didn't feel the panic taking hold of him this time, either. Maybe the biofeedback worked. Maybe it was because he wasn't pushing himself to extremes or wearing himself out with hours in the simulator. Maybe because he was working with Bones, and part of his attention was actually spent on making sure Bones was okay with the sim, too. Maybe it was because he finally found himself able to talk to someone about what he was going through – someone who understood. Bones wasn't going to judge him. The guy already _knew _him, and that was enough.

They arrived back at Bones' dorm just as the last vestiges of both the day and the storm faded into a rainless evening. It didn't take much begging to cajole another round of hot chocolate, and they enjoyed the steaming beverages while watching the campus lights come on. It was almost like the way they'd been before the crash. The banter was comfortable and welcomed. They talked about classes, asshole professors, annoying classmates, possible postings after graduation... and Bones even admitted what he'd been planning for his career path. _Yeah, kid... I'll try to get assigned to the same ship as you._It had almost made Jim forget about his fears.

The one thing they never mentioned was the investigation.

By 2200 hours, Jim knew it was time to stop hiding from the world in Bones' room. Tomorrow morning, he'd have to dive back into classes. He'd probably get called to an Academic Advisor's meeting with Pike at some point, just to _talk_. He'd have hand-to-hand in the afternoon, so he'd get to see Romano's ugly mug, as if he didn't need any more reminders. But he also had his flight training in the morning, and this time, he felt ready to work with his team again.

He was just pulling on his boots when Bones tapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, Bones?"

Bones held out his fist, palm down, and Jim automatically offered his upturned hand. The small sensor device they'd used in the simulator for the biofeedback program fell into his open palm. "The frequency code is on the back," Bones explained. "Just tap it into your PADD, and it'll automatically activate the biofeedback program. Use it during your flight classes if you want to, kid, but promise that you'll take it easy. Stick to the program. Focus on the biofeedback techniques. The more you get used to paying attention to your own body, the better you'll get at controlling your reactions."

"Okay."

"And if you do, could you record it for me?"

Jim looked at the small device in his hand and smiled. "I will," he said sincerely as he tucked it into his pocket. "Thanks, Bones. For everything."

"You're welcome, Jim. Just don't overdo it."

"I won't." He grinned sheepishly. "I think I've learned my lesson on that."

Bones laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Jim. You haven't. You're going to keep overdoing it for the rest of your life. And every so often, I'll be able to rein you in just enough to keep you from doing something completely crazy."

Jim frowned, feeling a surge of guilt. "Bones, I'm –"

"But that's okay," Bones interrupted, giving Jim a half-grin. "I think I've gotten used to shit like that from you. And… I guess I don't mind it so much after all."

Jim patted Bones' hand twice before it dropped from his shoulder, then he turned and walked out of the room.

Outside of the dorm, the night sky was clear enough that some stars were visible even through the lights of the city. Jim smiled up at the view, then began walking quickly down the path towards his own dorm. He was going to need to get some solid rest if he was going to tackle everything he had planned over the next few days. Daily flight sims with Bones, reviews for the pre-holiday exams, and pulling his flight team back together.

It was going to be a busy week.

*.&.*


	15. Chapter 15

**NOTES: **A Boxing Day treat! I told you the chapters would be coming along quickly.

While I'm here, I want to let you guys know about the next story in this series. In case you didn't see it, this story is part of an academy trilogy. There's a novella prequel called "Convergence." After that comes the first part of the trilogy: "And All the King's Men." This story is the second part of the trilogy. When I'm done posting "Crossfire," don't worry... because I'm almost done writing the last part of the trilogy, entitled "The Needs of the Few." See? It's the gift that keeps on giving! Once this story is over, I hope you'll stick around for the last big part of the series. I'm considering writing some short stories in this universe as well.

Also, I know that Star Trek fandom is in a bit of a lull right now. We're waiting for the next movie. It's been over three years since the last movie. Still... let's keep some life in this fandom. If you're enjoying this fic, let your fandom friends know about it. I love telling stories and sharing stories. The more the merrier.

Anyway, on with the fic!

*.&.*

The shuttlecraft touched down on the floor of the hangar bay with a delicate clank, and Jim turned to Okoru with a grin. "Better this time?" he asked hopefully as he discreetly plucked off the sensor Bones had given him and dropped the device neatly into his pocket.

She smiled back softly. "Better, Kirk."

He felt a flush of pride. "I've been working on it. Thanks for not telling Captain Tanner last time."

"We know you well enough by now, and I figured you'd work this out on your own." She initiated the power-down sequence. "You're not the type of person who gets scared or nervous, but... I know if I'd been the one who'd come out of that crash, I'd be scared shitless to get back in a shuttle. It's not easy to come back from something like that, and we all respect you for it."

"Especially Thaleb," Jim said with a chuckle as he ran the post-flight checks. "I swear, he's been amazing about... well... working with me and all."

"Andorians are fiercely protective of their families," Okoru said, smiling but not looking away from the control panel. "I think he sees us as his family. And don't take this as a blow to your ego or anything, Kirk, but he's been insanely protective of you since the crash."

If it had been anyone else, Jim might have felt embarrassed, but something about Thaleb's straightforward loyalty and blunt affections towards the whole team... it didn't bother him at all. "It's not a blow to the ego. It's actually quite an honor to have an Andorian accept you so strongly. I like being on a team with him." Jim let loose a short laugh. "Besides, it would take a lot more than that to deflate _my _ego."

Okoru shook her head. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You know me too well," he said lightly. The automated post-flight checks started spitting out results, which he uploaded to the central flight computer for Captain Tanner to review later. "So, it's Wednesday. What are we doing after class?"

This time, Okoru looked over at him, sporting a surprised-but-pleased look on her face. "We were wondering when you'd be up for that again. Freeman nominated a tea house on the far end of the Marina. Tea from all over the quadrant, with tapas pairings. What do you say?"

"Oh, you mean the Golden Leaf? I've been meaning to check that place out." He chuckled. "Bones isn't much of a tea drinker so I haven't had an excuse to go. And tapas aren't quite his thing either. He complains that it's half the food for twice the credits."

Okoru unfastened her harness and stood, stretching. Her hands barely reached the ceiling of the shuttlecraft. "How is McCoy doing anyway?"

Jim frowned as he took off his own harness. "What do you mean?"

"He just seemed really tired the last time I ran into him." She activated the hatch and started to climb down.

Jim was right behind her, speaking in low tones. "He's doing okay, but yeah, he's had a lot on his plate, too. They pulled his research project – those bastards – but he's got a new one. He's doing okay."

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "I'm glad. He seems like a nice guy. Good friend." She looked ahead to where Freeman and d'Eon were climbing out of their shuttlecraft. Thaleb was already standing by the computer terminal with Captain Tanner, who had filled in as the extra co-pilot. "Come on, let's get through the mission review so we can go try the tea. I hear Denobulans have a tea blend that will make your toes curl."

Jim leaned down and spoke in an undertone. "I hear the Betazoids have a tea that will make _everything _curl."

Okoru elbowed him neatly in the stomach, laughing lightly as they circled up around the computer screen, and Captain Tanner began the review.

It went well. Simple as that. It hadn't been a complicated mission, but they were on track, and by the end of the month, Captain Tanner expected them to be back ahead of the other flight squads in their level. It was exactly the boost they all needed. By the time Tanner dismissed them, the entire team was smiling and laughing. It was almost like old times as they made their way out of the hangar and towards the end of Crissy Field. A chilly evening, but the warmth of good conversation kept the chill at bay as they walked the bike path towards the Marina.

Jim looked around at his teammates wistfully as they slipped through the gate at the end of the field. Tambe wasn't here, true, but she'd be happy to see this. The team was still together. They were going to make it.

But tonight wasn't the time for over-thinking it, Jim realized as he pushed open the door to the tea house. Tonight was for relaxing with his flight squad.

The lights were dim in the tea house, and there were a variety of seating areas and options available. High tables, low sofas, booths... something for every taste. Judging by the enormous scroll menu on the wall listing tea varieties by the star system, there was something for every palate as well.

They settled on a low table with small ottoman-type seats placed around the table in a cluster, partially hidden by carefully arranged privacy screens. Just right for an evening when you needed to focus only on the people you came with. When the first round was served, Jim stopped them. "A toast, guys."

They all nodded and raised their glasses, and d'Eon asked, "To Tambe?"

Jim hesitated, then shook his head. "No... because that's not what she'd want. Not for tonight." He looked around the table fondly. "To Nova Squadron. May we live up to the hopes of our fallen leader... for each other and for her."

"To Nova Squadron," came the solemn replies.

An hour later, after five rounds of tea – and _yes_, the Denobulan tea really _did _make your toes curl – they were starting to wrap it up. Jim was feeling thoroughly relaxed for the first time in ages. Bumping shoulders with Freeman, flirting shamelessly with d'Eon (mostly so she could continue to reject his faux-advances), and giving Thaleb openings to mock him... which Thaleb never took, to everyone's amusement. It was normal. It was good. It was comfortable. It was –

"Guys, before the evening is over... we need to talk about finding a sixth pilot for the squad."

The unspoken protests showed on everyone's face, but Jim couldn't hold back. "Now, Okoru?"

"Not right now. But by Monday. We've go to talk about this, guys."

"Why do we need to? We can make this work with five people," Jim said stupidly, knowing that his protest wasn't going far.

"We can't, Kirk," Okoru said softly. "Not really. If we want to advance into next year as an established flight team, we need a six-person squad."

Slowly, everyone else nodded, and Jim felt himself nodding too before he stopped and shook his head. "Can't we give it a bit more time? It just feels... too soon to replace her."

A cool hand rested on Jim's shoulder, and he turned to see Thaleb's solemn features looking back at him. "Your loyalty to Cadet Tambe is admirable, Kirk, but you are aware that she would encourage us to find a new teammate... before our flight squad is dismantled, or assigned a new pilot who is not of our choosing."

Jim sighed. "I know. That doesn't mean it doesn't feel wrong."

Thaleb dropped his hand from Jim's shoulder. "We share your sentiment. But Tambe was a warrior, and would want our team to remain strong in her absence."

At that, Jim couldn't hold back a smile as he shook his head fondly. "That's one of the great things about you, Thaleb. You're impossible to argue with."

The Andorian shrugged – a mannerism he'd picked up from Freeman. "I do what I can." _That phrase_, Jim noted with some pleasure, _he got from me_.

"You do pretty well." Jim sighed and turned back to Okoru. "So... picking a sixth. How do we start?"

Okoru pressed her lips together grimly. "I already got a list of candidates from Captain Tanner. I'm going to send some data to your message caches tonight. Several possible applicants. Go over their profiles, and see what you think. We've got the whole weekend to consider it. And on Monday, we'll meet with Captain Tanner and discuss our preferences." She took a sip of her tea. "Any questions or concerns?"

"What if nobody fits with us?" Freeman asked. "It's not as though we're the most orthodox squad on campus. And we wouldn't much want to be, either."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

Okoru nodded. "Then we ask Captain Tanner for more options. We need to pick someone, but we're not going to ruin what we have here."

Freeman seemed to relax at that, just as d'Eon piped up. "Are candidates restricted by their flight aptitude scores and levels? Or are we drawing from the whole pool?"

"We'd obviously like to find someone who can be expected to advance to Level 3, Single Pilot Craft training next semester, but if we find someone who fits with us, and who wants to join, we'll get them trained up." She grinned deviously. "Besides, if someone can fit in with our little pack, we'll make sure we don't leave them behind."

"If a person has decent aptitude, skills can be trained easily enough," Jim agreed with a grin, thinking of the fact that even Bones could learn to fly a shuttlecraft. "If we find someone who works with us, we'll take care of the rest."

"Hear, hear," the squad chorused.

"I'll drink to that," Thaleb said firmly, lifting his tea and taking a sip.

"I love it when you use Terran phrases," d'Eon said with a grin, lifting her own cup, as did everyone else around the table.

Okoru tapped her empty tea cup with her spoon. "One more toast, guys." The team fell quiet as the teapot was passed around one last time and cups held aloft. "To Kirk," she said, barely audible, "for coming back to us alive." She met his stunned gaze. "Don't argue with me, Kirk. We needed you back. If we'd lost both of you, I don't think the rest of the team would be sitting together today."

He wanted to protest, but this time, it was better not to. "Okay," Jim said roughly, hoisting his own glass.

"To Kirk," came the soft toast from around the table. Glasses clinked, and tea was drained.

"So," Okoru broke in softly, "are there any more questions or concerns on the agenda?"

Jim raised his hand. "Mind if I go to the bathroom? All this tea hit me a bit suddenly."

And just like that, the solemn spell over the table broke, and the whole team was laughing again. Okoru shook her head in amused dismay. "Kirk, you're a jackass. Go. Then we should all head back to campus. It's almost 2000 hours."

Jim stood, stretching. "Sounds like a plan." And truth be told, aside from wanting to break the tension, he really did need to take a leak. He ambled away from the table, still enjoying the warm buzz that had hit him halfway through the third round – a drink called Saurian Fire Tea. He really needed to bring Bones down here. For all the guy swore he wasn't a tea drinker, he clearly hadn't tried enough non-Terran varieties to judge fairly. Maybe he'd make it his choice for celebrating after he passed his Assistant Instructor test.

Now _that_ was an idea. He hadn't been sure when to push for his Assistant Flight Instructor test, but after today's successful training mission, he was feeling confident in a shuttlecraft again, so... _Why not?_  
_  
_He pushed into the restroom and locked the door behind himself. But before he undid his pants, he pulled out his comm unit and tapped out a quick text message to Captain Tanner. A formal request to take the Assistant Flight Instructor exam. His finger hesitated over the "send" button, but thinking about his squadmates gave him the surge of confidence he needed. He grinned broadly and sent the message. _No going back now._  
_  
_He was still grinning when he came back out of the restroom. He was so lost in thought about the Assistant Instructor testing requirements that he only caught half of the snippet of conversation... but what he heard almost made him stumble.

"... impossible to get a Epsilon-model shuttlecraft engine to do that!" That was the high-pitched voice of a woman. "You want to talk about crash and burn? If you completely rerouted the secondary power conduits like that..."

The words could have been normal engineering babble, but something in the woman's tone of voice didn't sound right, and alarms were going off in Jim's head. Attempting to look casual, Jim continued past the booth where four humans in dark jumpsuits were talking, and he slid into the empty booth next to theirs. He grabbed a menu and pretended to read it.

"No, Hong, take another look. If you attach it at this point, you'll get the power diversion you're looking for."

_What the fuck?_ Jim's grip on the menu tightened._  
_  
"But then the efficiency rating will be too low..." Another voice. A low growling noise. "We'd never get it past them. One inspection would blow the whole thing."

"Then what do you propose?" The woman again.

"I propose that you stop worrying about hurting people and get down to business."

_Oh hell no_._  
_  
"That's a bit heartless, even for you, Rick."

"Well, you know what we're up against."

"I know." A pause. "Shit, you're right. So... what's the plan?"

"We try again."

Jim had heard enough.

He couldn't confront them – not here. Not alone. That would be asking for trouble. But dammit, he wasn't going to let this go either. Cautiously, he folded the menu again and slid out of the booth. He walked across the restaurant to his team's table, carefully keeping his face turned away until he was seated and hidden behind the privacy wall.

"Guys... I think we have a problem."

Instantly, the whole team was huddled over the table, looking at him intently. "What's going on, Kirk?" Freeman asked.

"I... I can't be certain, but I just overheard a conversation that..." He hesitated. If he was wrong, he was accusing people of being terrorists. But if he was right, he could stop something horrible from happening. "There's a group of people at that table over there, talking about shuttlecraft engines... efficiency ratings, power fluctuations. But it's not _what_ they were saying, it's _how_. I think they might be involved with sabotaging shuttles."

Everyone's faces froze with horror. Okoru finally spoke. "Are you _sure_, Kirk?"

"No!" he hissed under his breath. "I wish I could be sure, but I only overheard bits and pieces."

"If Kirk believes that someone is a possible threat to the Academy, I would not doubt his assessment," Thaleb said forcefully. "We must report this."

"What _can _you report, Kirk?" Freeman asked. "I mean, what exactly did you hear?"

"That..." He hunkered in even closer. "They're trying to modify shuttlecraft engines, and they want to get something past the inspections. Something that would cause engine efficiency to drop. And... one of them told another one to stop worrying about hurting people because they know what they're up against." He looked around at the faces of his teammates. "Come on, guys. What do you think?"

Okoru looked up and over her shoulder as subtly as possible, then ducked her head back down. "I think we need to report this. Now."

They tapped their ID's against the credit reader on the side of the table to settle their tab, then as subtly as possible, slipped out the door. As they walked away from the tea house, Okoru flipped open her comm unit, then shook her head. "Kirk, I think you should be the one to report this. But... who should we report to?"

"I know just the guy," Jim said flatly. He grabbed his own comm and flipped it open. "Cadet Kirk to Captain Pike."

A minute later, as they hurried down the Crissy Field bike path, Jim noticed the stark contrast to their earlier walk to the tea house. The light-hearted banter was gone, and the chill of the breeze didn't feel quite as refreshing. Deadly serious, they jogged in a tight cluster down the bike path, following Okoru – who was surprisingly fast for having such short legs. Jim couldn't help but notice that Thaleb was shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and he had to admit that the reassurance helped. He was pretty nervous.

On the far side of the field, the hill of the Presidio rose above Crissy Field and the hangar, crowned with the lights of the main campus. Pike was meeting them in Archer Hall. And Jim hoped like hell that he'd listen.

.&.

_Increased security_, Jim thought bitterly to himself as he stormed into the hangar. _You call this increased security?_ _  
_  
Pike had promised to relay the message to the Security and Intelligence departments, as well as the Administrative staff. Jim had tried to get him to relay the information to the investigation group, only to be succinctly informed that the investigation was over, and the group no longer existed. If nothing else, he'd promised that they'd heighten security, and be on the lookout for any unapproved access to the hangar.

However, the two security guards at the main hangar entrance didn't seem to be paying enough attention for Jim's comfort. Nobody in any of the shuttle bays seemed any more vigilant than usual for a Thursday afternoon. He'd mentioned it to some of the cadets in his Tactics class, but nobody seemed overly concerned. In fact, one of them suggested it was just a bunch of cadets doing a damned engineering project! That was ridiculous. They had been talking about hurting people, and Jim was certain he'd never seen them on campus before. He might not know every cadet personally, but he was pretty sure he'd seen pretty much every cadet on campus at some point, at least in passing. And he was pretty good with faces. No, it was just wrong, and Jim wasn't about to ignore his gut instinct.

However, as he approached the shuttlebay with the shuttlecrafts for Level 2 flight trainees, he tried to push it out of his mind. Captain Tanner had contacted him that morning, confirming his request to take the Assistant Flight Instructor exam. Tanner had two hours that afternoon free, and had scheduled the test already. No going back now.

Whatever else might be going on, he'd made a promise to himself. Now that the time was here, he had a test to pass, and he wasn't about to let anything else distract him. He needed to do this. For Tambe, for Bones, and for himself. Fucking saboteurs – Terra Prime or whoever they were – had already taken too much from him. They wouldn't take this. He wouldn't let them.

As Jim rounded the corner into the familiar shuttlebay, he saw Captain Tanner standing by the waiting shuttlecraft. A twinge of nerves twisted his stomach slightly, but it was normal to be nervous before a test like this. Sure, he could re-take it, and it had no impact on his grades, but it felt more important somehow. Bigger.

With a smart snap, he rendered a salute, which Captain Tanner returned before waving him into the shuttlecraft. The door sealed shut behind them with a resounding clang.

.&.

The comm unit chirped, and Leonard looked up from the charts he was analyzing. It was only preliminary data, and he'd need a much larger set of test subjects for this project, but Jim's biofeedback records were off to a good start, as were his own. He'd have to compare other approaches to treating aviophobia, but a classic technique like this would provide an excellent baseline data set for the project.

"_Kirk to McCoy._"

But now, it looked like the subject of his project was paging him. He grinned and flipped open the communicator, still perusing his data. "McCoy here. What's up, Jim?"

"_Bones..._"

There was something pained and drawn out in Jim's voice, and Leonard put his PADD aside immediately. "Jim? What's wrong?"

"_I... I tested for assistant instructor today. Or... tried to. I kinda bombed it._"

Leonard's mouth fell open, and he looked back and forth between the PADD on the table, still displaying Jim's data sets, and the comm unit sitting in his hand. "You _what_, Jim? Good God, kid, you weren't ready for that! What were you thinking?"

"_I thought I was ready, Bones. I could have been. I wasn't scared. Not of this. I... I just... I thought I could do it. Tambe's waited long enough for some sort of justice, and she wanted to do this. It was the least I could give her._"

Leonard shook his head. It was all he could do not to growl aloud. "She wouldn't want you to push yourself past the point you could handle! Do you know how easily it could have been the other way around, Jim? With her as the lone survivor, trying to do something to remember you by?"

"_Yes_." The reply was rough and harsh.

"And would you want her to do this to herself?"

"_No._"

"Okay, now that we've established that..." Leonard sighed. "Where are you, kid?"

"_I'm still at the hangar. Could you meet me in the flight sim facility?_"

"Are you planning to run a sim?"

"_No._"

"Good. Don't. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"_Thanks, Bones. And remember your ID. They've allegedly 'heightened security'._"

"Jim, we always need ID to get into the hangar."

"_I know_," he said, voice laced with bemused irony. "_Isn't it great?_"

Leonard sighed. "I'll be right down. McCoy out." He closed the comm unit with a flip of the wrist and groaned lightly. Jim was going to give him gray hairs before his time.

It was a crisp but pleasant evening outside. The stars were almost invisible against the city lights and the moon that was already peeking above the bay. Leonard jogged lightly down the lamp-lit path from the dorms to the flight hangar.

Really, he almost didn't need the lamps. He'd traveled this path quite a few times in the past several days to meet Jim, work with Jim, help Jim, and to help himself, too. They'd worked on it every day, going a bit further each time. They'd skipped last night because Jim had his regular flight session with his team. He'd worn the sensor, and had even rigged his own PADD to send results to Leonard's PADD instantly. He was doing so well. And now, he had to go and pull a stunt like this. Leonard would ask why, but he'd known Jim long enough by now that the question wasn't even necessary. The answer was simple: because it was Jim.

The security scanner let him through the main door to the hangar, and he showed the ID to one of the two security guards inside the door. They waved him through with a disinterested nod, and Leonard understood why Jim wasn't so impressed with the security if this was supposed to be _heightened_. However, he didn't see why they needed to increase security around the hangar anyway. Especially at this hour of the evening. The hangar was almost deserted.

Still, he had bigger things on his mind as he hurried across the hangar floor. A flash of deja-vu hit him, and he _hoped _he wouldn't have to pry Jim out of the simulator again. But no, he got the sense that tonight would be a bit different, and would probably end with bourbon instead of cocoa.

He swiped his ID badge across the sim facility checkpoint and entered. Although there were several simulators active, Leonard didn't even need to guess which was held Jim. The door was open, and Leonard could see Jim's foot swinging back and forth from the pilot's seat. Shaking his head sadly, he walked over to the sim pod and leaned on the frame of the open hatch. "Bad day, kid?"

Jim was sprawled in the seat, head tilted back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling. "Still a master of understatement, Bones." He turned his head sideways, just enough to be able to look at Leonard. "What was your first clue?"

"Well, let's see," Leonard said dryly as he sat down in the entrance to the sim pod, cocking one leg up and resting an elbow on his knee. "You called me without making a single wise-crack, just to tell me what happened. Then you asked me to come and meet you here, and as upset as you are, you didn't cuss once." He thumped Jim's dangling leg lightly with his fist. "At least, those are my first clues. I won't mention the bloodshot eyes."

"Good idea," came the toneless response. "I'm too pretty for bloodshot eyes."

"It's late, kid. How long have you been sitting here?"

Jim glanced over to check the pod's chrono. "A bit over three hours, I think. My test ended at 1900."

"Shit, Jim! And you've just been sitting here all this time?"

"Yup. Nobody kicked me out."

Leonard sighed. "Listen, Jim, I know that you wanted to –"

"Bones, stop. You don't know. Not even half of it. So let me tell you." He reached up and folded his hands on top of his head, fingers woven together. "I told you why I was busy last night and couldn't run a sim, right?"

"Yeah?"

An uncomfortable smile quirked the corner of Jim's mouth. "The flight went great. I'm doing better, Bones, and my team can see it."

"I know, kid. But what's going on?"

"We went to the Golden Leaf," Jim continued evenly. "The flight team. We used to go out for drinks and snacks after our Wednesday flights. No, not usually booze, in case you're wondering. We try to pick different places if we can. Team-building time, ya know? It was always fun. And you and I should go to the Golden Leaf sometime, Bones. I know you say you don't like tea, but some of this stuff is amazing."

"Jim, get to the point. What are you trying to tell me?"

He pulled his hands down from the top of his head and scrubbed them roughly over his face. "While I was there, I overheard something. These people... four of them, sitting in a booth. They were in civilian clothes, but they almost looked like uniforms of some sort. Jumpsuits. And they were talking about modifying shuttle engines."

Leonard frowned. "A lot of people are talking about that, Jim. In case you forgot, that competition for the new impulse engine design is heating up."

"They didn't sound like engineers, Bones." He grit his teeth, then shook his head with a low growl. "They were talking about trying to sneak something past inspections... and hurting people. Fuck, I can't remember the details, but it wasn't _right_, Bones. I know they were up to something!"

"Easy there, Jim," Leonard said, slapping him lightly on the leg to get his attention before he riled himself up any more. Maybe Jim was right, but maybe he'd overheard something innocent, and some vestiges of his paranoia were getting the better of him. Either way, he had to get Jim back on track. "Easy. I believe you. Really. But what's that got to do with this? Taking the test? And –"

"And failing the test," he said bitterly. "Simple, Bones. After a few nice rounds of tea with my flight squad, I had decided I was going to take the test today. Sent off a text request to Captain Tanner immediately. I overheard that conversation right after that. And by the time I got here for my test today, I couldn't get that conversation out of my head." He lightly punched his own thigh a few times in frustration. "I couldn't focus. Couldn't keep myself calm."

Leonard nodded in sympathy. "And so you panicked in front of your instructor."

"Not that simple, Bones. Not what you're thinking." He looked down with a pitifully bleak expression. "If you want to be an assistant instructor, you've got to be the best. You have to be ready to lead when something goes wrong."

Understanding dawned on Leonard. "Something went wrong."

Jim nodded. "Starfleet sure knows how to hit you where it counts. Captain Tanner apologized afterwards, but he said his own senior officer insisted. The actual flight portion of the test went fine... I actually did great in the real shuttle. I think you would have been impressed. But when we got to the simulator... they programmed an engine failure."

Leonard sat sharply upright as if he'd been shocked. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jim shook his head slowly, and choked out a pained laugh. "And even better, they had the sim instructions take us past Mars. It wasn't an engine failure within the planet's gravity well, but still... high pressure leadership decisions. That's what they were looking for."

This was the sort of shit that made Leonard furious at how the Command and Security training was designed. The psych side of the training... they had no sense of how far was too far. "You can't blame yourself for that, Jim! Stop and think for a moment. I know you're an over-achiever – "

"I just want to be good enough, Bones."

"Dammit, Jim, you are! And listen. You pushed too far today. Accept that right now, okay?"

Jim leaned forward in his seat, looking like he was ready to protest, but Leonard glared at him, and he wilted. "Okay, I pushed too far."

"Good. You didn't know how far was too far. And you didn't know what they were going to put into the sim part of the test."

"I should have known, Bones. They test you for your weaknesses." He rested his elbows heavily on his knees. "This was unavoidable."

"Then take it as a lesson." He gave Jim what he hoped was a challenging stare. "Get yourself out of that sim pod, pick yourself up, go through the biofeedback program the way we laid it out, and then come back and take the test when you're ready."

Jim looked at him bleakly. "When's your flight test for your class?"

"Doesn't matter. Your timetable doesn't depend on me, or anything but your own progress. I'll go for my test with whatever instructor I get assigned. You just need to worry about your own comeback."

"I need to pass this, Bones."

"You will."

"I failed."

"You _tried_." He grunted as he leaned forward and stood, once again leaning against the frame of the sim pod hatch. "You only fail when you give up. And somehow, I don't see you as the type to quit on anything."

Jim snorted at him. "When did you become a fucking self-help manual?"

"Brat," Leonard said, slapping his arm lightly.

"Yep. And I'm not going to stop trying, Bones. I told you, I don't –"

"Believe in no-win scenarios." Leonard sighed. "I know, kid. You don't know how to give up either. And that's why you're going to win at everything you decide to do... and go as far as you want to go."

"And I'm taking you with me."

"Yeah, Jim. I'm going with you."

Jim finally cracked a hint of a real smile. "How 'bout your place, for now?"

"Well, I've got a bottle of bourbon that seems a bit too full right now. Might need to do something about that."

"On a school night?" Jim laughed lightly, pulling himself out of the sim pod.

Leonard scoffed at him. "As if you were going to do any homework tonight anyway. Beside, I know you. You're two weeks ahead on your reading and written assignments anyway."

"Guilty as charged, Bones." He turned and tapped the power-down sequence for the flight simulator and looked at it sadly as the hatch fell shut with a metallic clank. "I just wish I..." He shook his head. "I dunno."

"What, Jim?"

Jim looked at him wistfully. "I just wonder what decisions Captain Tanner was looking for during the simulation. If he was looking for the kinds of choices Tambe made... you know... that day. Or if he wanted something different. Or if maybe he was looking for something else altogether."

"Well, Jim... you know what they say about making decisions when you're in command." He clapped his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Just make one, and then try to catch the chips when they fall."

"And sometimes, it even works out," Jim said meaningfully. "Come on, let's get out of here."

They left the flight simulator facility and began making their way through the main hangar bay. Their footsteps echoed distantly against the high ceilings, and the voices of he few Academy personnel in various maintenance bays around the hangar were muffled and hollow in the large space. As they walked past the Reserve Shuttle Bays, a few of the voices got louder. Jim glanced to the side briefly without breaking his stride, then stopped cold.

"Jim, what's –"

"Quiet, Bones." Jim's eyes narrowed as he took in the view of a couple of people in black jumpsuits working on one of the shuttlecrafts. A few access panels near the impulse engines had been pulled away, and more voices were coming from inside the shuttle.

"No, seriously, Jim – what's going on?"

"I recognize those people," Jim said, his voice cracking like ice against metal. "I saw them last night. In the tea house." His shoulders hunched tightly and his hands clenched into fists. "Those are the fuckers who were talking about sabotaging the engines."

"Fuck," Leonard breathed. "We should report this. Jim, let's get away from where they can see us, and –"

"No time for that."

"What? No, Jim, what are you –"

Before Leonard could blink, Jim was off in a dead sprint running at the people in the shuttle bay. All he could do was stand there in shock and watch.

The man closest to Jim barely had a chance to see a raging ball of fury speeding towards him before Jim slammed into the guy, sending him sprawling into the ground with a shout of surprise and then a cry of pain as Jim's fist connected with his jaw. The woman who'd been working with him started to charge towards Jim with a determined yell, but Jim ducked down and neatly diverted her momentum, lifting her off the ground and sending her sailing over his shoulder. Two other men were already coming out of the shuttlecraft, shouting, and Leonard finally snapped out of his shocked disbelief.

He grabbed his comm from his belt and flipped it open. "Doctor McCoy to Academy Security! We've got an incident in progress in the shuttle hangar! One cadet actively engaged in an altercation with four unidentified civilians. Send backup _immediately_!"

A reply buzzed back, and Leonard barely registered that help was on its way as he snapped the comm shut, shoved it into the holster on his belt, and raced towards the fight. "Jim!" he yelled, hoping to be heard over the yelling.

Jim was already in a one-on-two brawl against the men who had come to the fight late. The first man was writhing weakly on the ground, and the woman was already struggling to her feet. Running faster, Leonard blew past her and launched himself into the brawl, not to help Jim, but to stop him.

"Jim! Stop this, goddammit!" A swinging fist from one of the furious men clipped his jaw, and the other guy landed a blow to Jim's gut. "Stop!" With a desperate heave, he wrapped his arms around Jim's upper arms and chest and threw his entire body weight into pulling Jim physically away from the other men.

Jim was not pleased with that. "Let me go! Fuck! Bones, let me go! We've got to stop them!" He wrenched one arm free and tried to swing back at the two men. "Murderous bastards! You sabotaged the shuttle! You killed Tambe! You fucking terrorists!"

"Stop it, Jim!" He redoubled his effort to keep a grip on Jim, who was struggling desperately.

"No!"

One of the two men who'd been fighting had already broken off to go tend to the guy who was still lying on the ground, groaning, but the other man was standing there, fuming. "What the hell are you talking about? Sabotage?"

"You're sabotaging the shuttle!" Jim screamed, his voice as wild as his desperate flailing. "You're trying to kill the engine. Your people made my shuttle crash! It was you!"

The woman had finally staggered to her feet. "You're insane," she spat. "We're trying to perfect our test engine for the competition. We have a week left before the final trials."

Jim suddenly stilled in Leonard's arms. "What? I... but I heard you. Last night at the tea house. You said you were going to hurt people." His voice still held rage and challenge, but it was broken by something small and meek and lost... so lost. "What the fuck was that, then?"

The man replied. "Some dumb kid wanted in on our project. He had this stupid idea to rework the entire energy matrix. Hong didn't want to hurt his feelings, but we've been working on our design for over three years. The kid's design was unstable."

Jim's shoulders sagged slightly. "Then you're not... you didn't –"

"This is the first and only shuttlecraft we've ever touched on this campus," the woman said in tight, clipped tones. "Starfleet gave us _one _shuttle to modify for testing. We're not about to waste it by sabotaging it or crashing it."

"Guys, you need to shut up and someone needs to call a doctor." They all turned and looked at the man who was kneeling down next to the guy that Jim had tackled first. "That asshole nailed Jeff pretty hard."

Leonard all but shoved Jim out of his grasp. "I'm a doctor. Let me see him." Without a tricorder and medkit, he couldn't do much, and he mentally cursed himself for leaving his ever-present kit behind in his dorm room. Still, he could start a primary assessment and page the infirmary, and the medics would arrive quickly enough with a kit. He grabbed his comm unit as he checked the guy over as best he could. "Doctor McCoy to Academy Infirmary."

"_Go ahead._"

"We've got a man down in the Academy shuttle hangar. Involved in a fight. Broken jaw, suspected grade-two concussion. Contusions, minor bleeding. We need a transport."

"_We're dispatching the transport now. Infirmary out._"

Leonard flipped the comm shut and finally looked back up at the people around him. The other three people in the black jumpsuits – _Civilian engineers_, Leonard realized – were all looking down at him, clearly worried about their colleague. The woman was rubbing her shoulder, and Leonard noted that he'd have to tell her to get checked out at the infirmary, too. But standing off behind them was Jim.

Jim looked... shocked. Mortified. He kept shaking his head in small jerks, as if trying to rationalize what had just happened... what he'd just done. The paranoia that had plagued him for weeks, in a moment of weakness, had finally gotten the better of him, and he'd just attacked four civilians. He knew exactly what that meant.

Footsteps approached quickly – the sound of boots clacking heavily on the plascrete floor. Security guards. "Someone reported a fight?" the taller of the two asked without fanfare.

The female engineer whirled around, pointing a damning finger at Jim. "This cadet came out of nowhere and jumped us! Look at what he did to Lowry. I thought you said the hangar would be safe!"

Jim looked bleakly between the security guards and the woman, then cast one glance at Leonard. There was a horrible look in his eyes. Surrender. Swallowing tightly, he looked away from Leonard and stepped towards the security guards, hands out to his side, palms up. "I made a mistake. I... I thought they were sabotaging the shuttlecraft." He took a deep breath. "But yeah, I did it."

The two security guards looked at each other, and the taller one stepped forward. "You know we're going to have to take you in and write this up." He looked over to the woman – Hong. "Do you want to press charges?"

She rubbed her shoulder meaningfully, then tilted her head towards Lowry, who was still moaning fitfully on the floor. "What do you think?" she snapped.

Looking almost apologetic, the security guard moved to Jim's side and took him by the upper arm. "Come with us, Cadet."

Jim only nodded, still looking shocked and numb at the sudden turn of events. He cast one last look at Leonard – a tight-lipped plea and apology all at once – and then let himself be led out of the shuttle bay, flanked by the two security guards. The defeated droop of his shoulders was the last Leonard saw of him before he disappeared around the corner without a sound.

There was no time to think about it. The medics already were arriving with a stretcher, and Leonard was on his feet and barking orders and helping to load the patient into the waiting transport. He corralled the injured woman into the transport as well, insisting that she get her shoulder checked at the infirmary, and they left the other two engineers behind in the hangar.

As the medical transport sped them to the infirmary, Leonard stared out the window at the campus racing by around them, and wondered what the hell had just happened, and how bad the fallout would be.

.&.


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTES: **Happy New Year! I was a bit busy the past few days, running around doing holiday stuff. Hope everyone had a lovely holiday season. On with the next chapter!

*.&.*

I_ deserve this_, Jim thought as he stared at the wall in front of him. He'd been staring at the wall for almost an hour, he guessed. Couldn't be sure - the security guards had removed his communicator, and the room didn't have a chrono. But it didn't matter. He was in a security holding cell waiting to find out what they were going to do with him. Whatever that was...

_I'll deserve it_._  
_  
It was a nauseating thought. Sobering, too. He'd attacked a group of civilians without provocation. For that split second, he'd be convinced - _so absolutely certain _- that those people were sabotaging the shuttlecraft. His brain had been instantly and utterly fixed on the idea that they were Terra Prime saboteurs, and no other thought crossed his mind. He hadn't even questioned it.

_So stupid_._  
_  
He hadn't thought it through. Of course not. Even with every warning he'd been given, from people he was so sure he'd trusted at one point, he'd refused to listen to reason. No, he'd jumped in headfirst, only to find that it wasn't even a swimming pool, never mind being over his head. _Wonder what Toland the Terrible would say_, he thought bitterly, remembering her warning.

Now that he was forcing himself to think through everything he'd been told, everything he'd seen and heard in the past few weeks, he realized how insane he must have looked. A stupid decision, and _if _he'd been thinking clearly, he never would have done something like that.

But he hadn't been thinking clearly. In fact, it hadn't felt like himself, his own thought process. Looking back, he knew he hadn't properly felt, acted, or thought like himself since the crash. His decision to escape the hospital... his certainty that people were out to get him... his fear of flying... his sudden paranoia that caused him to attack those people...

_Emotional disturbances_. Jim thought about what Admiral Swerdlow had asked him during the hearing. _Maybe this is what he meant._ Then he snorted at himself. _I'm fucking paranoid. That's what this is._

Leaning his head heavily into his hands, Jim squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could simply vanish from the world.

Jim only startled slightly when the door finally slid open. He expected the security guard. Maybe even Bones. He _didn't _expect to see Captain Pike's rigid form filling the door frame, eyes like razors, ready to slice him to shreds. Maybe he should have expected it.

Jim was on his feet in an instant, snapping to attention. "Sir."

If anything, Pike's eyes narrowed even more. With a single jerk of his head, he motioned for Jim to follow. He didn't say a word as he turned and walked down the corridor of the security station. Feeling a bit like he was following his own executioner, Jim squared his shoulders and went after him. Emotional disturbances or not, he didn't figure Pike was going to cut him any slack.  
_  
_Pike turned a corner down a short hallway in the security building to a row of small rooms. Without missing a beat, he tapped the access code for one of the rooms and stepped through the door.

Jim followed him into what looked like a basic office with a small desk and no personal furniture. There was a chair on either side of the desk, and it was very obvious which one was for the person in charge of the discussion, and which one was his. Feeling unsure of his every move, he stood by the chair, waiting for instructions.

Pike stepped around the desk and leaned on it, eyes glaring daggers. He ignored his own chair. "Sit."

Jim's backside was in the chair as if pulled by a supermagnet. "Sir, I can explain. I -"

"You can shut your trap and thank your lucky stars that you've built yourself a damned fine reputation in the past year. Otherwise, you'd be on the other side of the Academy gate right now with a one-way ticket back to Iowa. Do you read me, Cadet?"

Not trusting his voice, Jim nodded, realizing just how far up shit creek he really was. Pike, who had been his best ally since day one, was furious. He had every reason to be.

"Do you know what I just spent the last hour doing?" Obviously a rhetorical question. "I just let a half-dozen flag officers step all over my own personal dignity to keep you in this Academy!" The fury in his voice had a tinge of anguish. "I told you to keep your head down, Kirk. I meant it. Do you think I said that for my own health? Well, seeing as I'm sure my blood pressure is probably through the roof right now, maybe it was!" He slapped one hand down on the desk to punctuate the thought before leaning back and raking his fingers roughly through his hair.

Jim kept his mouth shut.

Shaking his head, Pike let out a tight breath. "There are a lot of people who are beyond furious with you right now. If you think I'm angry, you're going to have one hell of a time with the rest of them. With one exception, the folks I just talked out of expelling you are people who have no idea what you went through last year, Kirk. Believe me, it would have been a lot easier to wave that medal of yours under their noses, but it's still classified. Admiral Barnett was the only one of them who knew what you went through with Terra Prime, and you're damned lucky he had the final call. The rest of them were ready to see the back of you."

He paused to let that sink in before leaning heavily on the desk again, looming over Jim. Jim felt himself shrinking back into his own chair, and wasn't that surprised to realize he was actually intimidated.

Pike nodded with grim satisfaction. "But let me tell you something, Cadet - any extra brownie points you might have had from your heroics last year are gone now. You hear me? _Gone_. You have just run to the end of your goddamned rope, and I hope you don't hang yourself with it. I'm not going to cut you loose next time if you do. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." The air felt thick in Jim's lungs.

"Good," Pike said flatly. "Now here's what's going to happen. I've managed to get you released by security. Consider it a favor you don't deserve right now; I almost let you sweat it out in here overnight. I've convinced them that you're not going to act like a crazed maniac and attack any more civilians. Do _not _make a liar out of me, Kirk."

"No, sir," Jim choked out.

"You're only allowed back in the shuttle hangar under the supervision of an instructor until further notice. I looked at your recent access logs for the hangar and flight sim facility. You've been in there every damned day! Sometimes twice! What the hell have you been doing in there, Kirk?"

Jim opened his mouth, not sure what to do now that he suddenly had a real question to answer. "I... I've been practicing, sir. Piloting skills. I was... I was a bit nervous about flying after the crash. I needed to get back to the point where I wasn't nervous." He swallowed thickly. "McCoy was helping me."

At that, Pike raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I thought he wasn't fond of flying himself."

"We were working together."

Pike gave him a level stare and pursed his lips. "I'll let you know if and when you're cleared again for flight sims with McCoy. But in the meantime... go back to your classes tomorrow. Keep your head down and your mouth shut." He stood back from the desk. "And Kirk?"

"Yes, sir?"

For a moment, the anger from earlier congealed into something colder. "Let me make something perfectly clear. I put my reputation on the line to get you into Starfleet in the first place. I did it again tonight. I will _not _do it again."

"Understood, sir."

Pike gave him a steady nod. "Come to my office in the morning. 0730, before your first class. We need to discuss this when I'm not actively debating whether or not to wring your neck."

With that, Pike was gone. Jim stared at the door for a long moment before remembering that Pike had said he'd been released. Feeling a bit awkward, he stood and slid out the door, feeling as though his footsteps and even his heartbeat were too loud in the hallway. He found his way back to the front desk, where the Security Officer on duty gave him a distantly sympathetic look.

"I'll guess you got enough punishment from the Captain there."

"My ears are still burning," Jim said flatly.

"Well, douse the fire and get out of my office. You're free to go. Besides, you've got someone waiting for you in the front room."

Jim frowned in confusion and pushed his way through the door into the waiting room, and quickly realized he shouldn't have been confused. He felt a distant hint of a smile trying to creep back onto his face. "Bones?"

The familiar face of his best friend snapped in his direction, but the scowl there was anything but familiar. In a heartbeat, Bones was on his feet, looping the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. "Come with me." He was halfway to the door by the time Jim's brain caught up.

"Uh... okay, but... Bones?" Jim hurried after Bones out the door, and actually had to jog to catch up with the man's long strides. The lamplight along the path lit his facial profile, which was set in a stony grimace. "Bones, listen, I'm sorry. I... I just -"

"Shut it, Jim." He kept staring straight ahead as he walked, not even glancing sideways once. "You're coming back with me to my dorm, and I don't want to hear a word out of you until we get there."

Jim felt as though he'd just been back-handed. With a baseball bat. Sure, Pike had been furious, but Bones was his best friend. This was just... wrong. "I... uh... okay."

They continued across the main quad to the point where the walkways diverged, with one path leading to the dorms with the mini-apartments. Cadets who already had advanced degrees, medical cadets, and some young officers who had returned for refresher courses were billeted there. Jim had often envied those dorms with their mini-apartments and more comfortable accommodations, and he'd always loved taking that path to Bones' building for a night of easy camaraderie.

Tonight, he wanted to run in the other direction.

The front door of the dorm building slid open when Bones swiped his ID badge across the reader, and the turbolift was almost claustrophobic as it carried them to the eighteenth floor. Finally, Jim followed Bones into his dorm room.

He'd never been nervous around Bones before. The guy had his moments, sure, but no matter how grouchy or cynical or bad of a day, there was an underlying warmth in everything Bones did and said. And really, aside from the sardonic grumbling, he'd really begun to come out of his shell in the past year. He laughed easily and smiled broadly. Well, maybe not so much in the weeks since the accident, but yeah, he did.

Tonight, it was as if Jim was in the room with a different man. Hesitantly, Jim unzipped his outer jacket and hung it from the coat hook by the door. "Bones?"

Bones had walked across the room and dropped his messenger bag on the table with a muffled thud. Slowly, as if laboring under an unseen weight, he unzipped his own jacket, removed it, and draped it over the back of his chair. He then leaned on the table heavily, head drooping on his neck, eyes closed. Mouth pinched in a pained expression.

"Uh... Bones?"

"Jim." His voice was tight and strained. "In the past year, you've become the closest friend I think I've ever had. You're my family, kid. I think I'm yours. That means a hell of a lot, as far as I'm concerned." He glanced sideways, barely turning his head. "But... what am I supposed to think right now? Huh, Jim? What the hell am I supposed to think? To say? How do I even begin to react to something like this?"

Jim opened his mouth, but there were no words, so he closed it again.

Bones looked back down at the table. "I thought so." With a sudden heave, he pushed himself back from the table and began digging around in his cabinets as he continued to speak. "At the infirmary, I let the other doc fix the guy's jaw. You broke it, by the way, if you want to brag to your hand-to-hand buddies. I worked on the lady's shoulder - mild separation; she's fine. And while I did, I talked her out of pressing charges against you." He pulled down a liquor bottle from the far back of the cabinet shelf and set it with a sharp clank on the counter top.

Jim blinked and started to smile at the faint hint of hope. "I... thanks, Bones."

In response, Bones shot back a harsh scowl. "Don't thank me. I was a witness, so if they did drag you to court, I'd end up subpoenaed, and I really don't have time for that horse shit." He grabbed a glass from the shelf. Only one.

Instantly, the hope was gone. "Oh."

"Goddammit, Jim, what do you expect me to do here? I've been trying to help you... trying. And failing." He splashed a generous dose of bourbon into the glass and immediately tossed back a swallow.

Confusion wrapped around Jim like a frown. "What?"

Bones shook his head. "I should have seen it coming. I knew you weren't alright, Jim." He held up his glass and stared at the amber liquid, then spoke at it. "You're a reckless, daredevil sort of guy on the best of days, and sometimes other people get you caught up in their shit, but you've never been stupid. Even some of your craziest stunts... you always think it through. In detail. From a dozen fucking angles. And that's why your crazy, reckless, damned-fool _genius _stunts always work." He took another sip, slower this time, then put the glass down before turning to face Jim directly. "You didn't think this time, Jim."

Something bleak and hollow wormed its way through Jim's gut at the defeated look on his friend's face. "Bones..."

But Bones just shook his head again, shoulders sagging. "You didn't think when you escaped from the hospital. You didn't think about the warnings Pike gave you. Didn't think it through when you took the flight instructor test too soon. And -" He pressed his lips together tightly, staring at him for a long moment. "You didn't think - didn't even hesitate - to attack those civilians."

The broken and desolate look on Bones' face stirred a sick sort of guilt in the pit of Jim's stomach. "I... I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't think - you're right. I was an idiot tonight. I made a mistake. I didn't think it through." He took a step closer to his friend. "But I'll fix it. I'll focus. And once I figure out who sabotaged the shuttle, I'll be able to put this behind me, but in the meantime, I swear I'll think things through and -"

"Once you figure it out, Jim?" Bones said incredulously. "Do you hear yourself? You need to get it together _regardless _of whether they ever find the guy who did it. You need to stop letting yourself get wrapped up in this shit because it's going to destroy you."

Jim frowned. "I've made a couple of bad decisions, but I'll pull it together. I'll go back to your prescribed biofeedback program. I'll work on my classes and keep my mouth shut like Pike said. It'll be fine."

"Oh, so just like that?" Bones shot him a harshly skeptical look.

"Why not?"

"Why _not_?" Bones echoed. "Maybe because there's more to this than you realize, Jim."

"So I've been told. I get it, Bones."

"No, Jim, I _don't _think you get it! In fact, I think it's damned near impossible for you to get it right now." He was gesturing wildly with his hands, something he only did when he was beyond agitated. "Kid, you have no idea how close you really came to losing everything tonight. And you don't know when you're going to make another stupid decision that will finally be the last straw." He shook his head in apparent disbelief. "You were so worried about your precious accelerated program while you were stuck in the hospital. Well, let me tell you something - if you keep this up, they're not just going to pull you out of the accelerated program. They'll yank you from the command track. And maybe straight out of the Academy!"

Hearing it from his academic advisor had been one thing. Pike was supposed to give him hell about his academic and official life. But here was Bones, laying it out flat. It seemed a lot more painful this way. "I... I can fix it."

There was a pained quality to the twisted frown that warped Bones' face. "You can't fix it this time, kid. Not by yourself."

"I can! I've learned my lesson. I can -"

But Bones shook his head, slowly and unquestionably. "You can't. This isn't just a lessons-learned sort of thing. Oh God, you can't even _see_ it. Jim, put the pieces together, okay? You've been paranoid since you woke up in the ICU. You thought people were trying to get you in the hospital. You thought the medications we were giving you were causing amnesia. You kept telling me how you felt trapped, and that terrorists were still targeting you."

"But someone sabotaged the shuttle, Bones. I _know _it. I saw it! Don't you believe me?"

"I believe you, kid. But we can't prove it." He shook his head again. "And even if the shuttle was sabotaged, we have no reason to believe they were after you."

"But how could they not be?" Jim challenged.

Bones fixed him with a sharp look. "And _that's _the problem right there, Jim! You're not even considering other possibilities! The Jim I know would have considered all the angles. He'd be looking for other answers, instead of latching on to the most paranoid answer he could find and clinging to it like a life raft."

"So I'm paranoid, am I?" Jim shot back defensively, even though he knew Bones was speaking the truth. "Just because I'm looking at an answer that makes sense -"

"You're not making sense!" Bones cut him off furiously. He reached back, grabbed his glass, and took another quick swig of his bourbon before slamming the almost-empty glass back on the counter. With a heavy growl, he began to pace in agitation back and forth across the short kitchen floor. "You can't fix this yourself, Jim, because this isn't just a matter of stupid decisions. That's only one of the symptoms we're seeing. It's a _symptom_, Jim! I should have seen this coming. Dammit, Jim, why didn't I see it? I should have. I _did_. And I let it go." He paused long enough to slam his hand on the tabletop in boldfaced frustration. "I wish you'd said something. I wish I hadn't let myself be so blind to this. I should have been paying attention. Accepted the fact that you're only human, and you couldn't beat all the odds. Maybe if my neural regen units had been better -"

"Hold it right there," Jim cut in, finally feeling an in where he could justifiably argue back, even though the sudden turn in the conversation had left him confused and reeling slightly. "Your devices saved my _life_! You can't blame my stupid decisions on you not having fine-tuned your miracle-gizmo soon enough."

There was a desolate sort of anger that ran through Bones' expression like cracks in a window pane. "I can, Jim. I saved your life, but I had no idea what those devices would do. Modern medicine has come a long way, but somewhere between the human brain and the human soul, we're still as lost as we've ever been. I should have been watching for these problems. We should have put a psychiatrist on your recovery team -

"_Psychiatrist_?" Jim blurted out. "No way, Bones! You know exactly what they'd start digging up if they did that. I don't need my past dragged through the mud."

"That's why I advised against it, kid." He swallowed tightly. "That's why I told them... after you escaped... that I'd be responsible for that. And... goddammit, Jim, I failed you."

Jim shook his head wildly. "No. Just stop that. _No_. You put your career on the line to save my life, and I'm not going to ask more than that from you. It's _my _fault for what happened tonight. This isn't about you, Bones. This is about me."

Bones stopped cold, then leaned back against the kitchen counter. It looked as if the counter was the only thing keeping him upright. He stared at Jim, his face unreadable. "Jim, if you've learned one thing from all this, you should have learned that it's _not _all about you."

Jim snorted. "That's what people keep telling me, but you know what? I call bullshit. It's always me, and there's no fucking way for me to avoid it. No matter what shit is going on, I always end up in the middle of it. How can you tell me, after everything that's happened, that it's not about me?"

Bones was still staring at him with that desolate, lost expression. For a moment, he didn't even blink, then finally said, "Because, Jim... sometimes, shit happens. Wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes, being in the wrong place at the wrong time turns you into a hero. And sometimes, it almost destroys you."

Jim felt his mouth fall open slightly, and he let out a faint, "_Bones_..."

"Don't let this one destroy you, Jim." It was a plea this time. He blinked a few times, and stared off across the room, eyes unfocused. "I can't fix it this time, Jim. And if you can't fix it either, then it's going to destroy us, too."

It was like a knife to the gut. It was an ice-cold realization that his own stubbornness, his own refusal to get the help that _you obviously need, you fucking idiot_, and his own pride could ruin the best friendship he'd ever had. He couldn't let that happen. Slowly, as if moving through something thick and viscous, Jim stepped into the kitchen, turned, and leaned against the counter, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Bones. He let his weight sag against the solid mass of the counter top. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay, Bones. What should I do?"

Bones sighed. "I know a guy in the psych department," he said, his voice dry and cracked. "Doctor Rodriguez. He's good, and I think you'll like him. You'll need him to report to Pike, but beyond that, he'll keep your confidentiality. I know he will."

"What if he doesn't? I mean, if he -"

"He _will_," Bones said with resolute firmness. "Trust me on this, Jim."

"I do trust you," Jim said, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. "It just feels... weak. Asking for help."

Bones shook his head. "Sometimes, Jim, it takes far more strength to ask for help when you need it. Especially for a guy like you." He let out a slow breath. "Modern medicine has gotten away from the old judgemental attitudes about mental and psychological injury and illness. Nobody is going to think less of you, or look down on you, for seeking help with your recovery from a severe head injury." His voice threatened to crack on the last few words, but he huffed a couple of short breaths and pulled it back together. Jim could almost feel the tension radiating off him. "But Jim... if you don't get help, and you don't get this fixed... you won't be fit for duty, and nothing I do or say will change that."

"Oh. Okay." Jim swallowed down the nausea that was starting to well up in his gut. "So... when do I see this guy? This psych friend of yours?"

"He's at a conference this week, but he'll be back in town on Monday. I'll send him a communiqué."

"Okay," Jim said softly. Then something else occurred to him. "Bones... what will everyone else think? I mean... fuck, this is going to be all over campus by tomorrow morning. They're all going to think I'm nuts. This is... I'm gonna... _fuck_..." He pressed the palms of his hands against his face, wishing he could shut out the world. In his mind's eye, he saw himself walking into class tomorrow, with the scornful, disdainful looks from every other cadet following him everywhere. Across the quad, into the shuttle hangar, at hand-to-hand... all the people who he'd hoped... he'd thought... they had respected him. Some looked up to him. And now... what the hell would they think?

With a sigh, Bones reached up and clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder. It was a warm, familiar, reassuring pressure. "The ones who are worth anything will understand what you've been through. The rest... fuck 'em."

Jim dropped his hands and looked at Bones hopefully. It seemed too promising, too kind of an answer, but he wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it. "Really, Bones?"

In a voice that seemed just a bit uncertain of itself, with a smile to match, Bones said, "Yeah, kid. Really."

*.&.*

"Come."

The word sounded like a condemnation to Kirk as he stood outside the door of Pike's office. On his way to Archer Hall, he'd wondered if maybe Pike would have cooled his feet overnight. Maybe he'd have thought about the circumstances, and what might have caused Jim to snap, or...

_Forget it, Kirk_, he berated himself. _Pike will still be furious, and he has every reason to be. Now get your ass into the office._

Bracing himself, Jim stepped forward, triggering the door and stepping into the office of Captain Christopher Pike.

Jim had been in there before, several times. Regular advising sessions, an occasional review of Jim's progress in his accelerated track, and so on. The room had always seemed open-aired and comfortable with its wall-length window and natural wood trim.

Today, it looked like an execution chamber, with his personal judge, jury, and executioner staring back at him from behind the desk. Pike seemed just as unfamiliar as the room did, with his face still locked in the mask of anger he'd worn last night.

"Have a seat," he said flatly.

"Yes, sir," Jim said quietly, hurriedly settling himself into the seat across the desk from Pike. At least this time, they were both sitting, instead of Pike looming over him like a storm front. It was only marginally better.

"Kirk," he began, his voice low and dangerous, "I'm going to give you one chance to explain yourself from last night, and it had better be good."

Despite the rehearsed answers he'd tried to create during his sleepless night on Bones' couch, his brain was spinning too fast to remember anything coherent as he stared back at Pike's furious expression. Apparently, the guy hadn't mellowed overnight. So, with his heart hammering in his chest, Jim stammered out the first thing he could think of. "I... I have no excuse, sir."

"Damn it all, Kirk!" Pike snapped, slapping his hands down on the desk. "I'm not looking for an excuse - I'm looking for an explanation! You're one of the smartest, most capable cadets this campus has ever seen, and you know damned well that I'm aware of it. You don't do things without a reason, even if your reasons don't always make sense to everyone. I have to believe you had a reason for what you did last night." He reached up with one hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before looking back at Jim. "What happened, Kirk?"

The defeated look on Pike's face matched the hollow feeling in Jim's gut. Swallowing against another wave of nausea, Jim looked down at his own hands resting on his knees and spoke.

"I thought that the investigation had given up, sir. There were no answers, so I was sure the saboteur was still out there."

"So you decided to jump the first suspicious person you saw near a shuttlecraft? Is that it?"

"No!" Jim protested. "That wasn't the plan. Those... those were the people I saw in the tea house yesterday, sir. The ones I reported to you about."

A look of comprehension crossed Pike's face. "I see," he said slowly. "So you just saw them there, and decided to take matters into your own hands?"

"I... I didn't decide, exactly." Jim forced himself to meet Pike's gaze, despite the fact that he wanted to shrink down until he was too small to be seen, and then run from the room.

Frowning, Pike slowly lowered himself into his seat, never taking his hands off the desk. "Then what, exactly, did you do?"

Staring back at Pike's stone-set features and eyes that were begging for an explanation that could make sense of everything, Jim knew he had to come clean. Everything Bones had told him from the night before... _brain damage_, psych trauma, everything he loathed to admit but had come to accept during his sleepless night... he had to tell Pike. He knew what he was facing: a choice between looking like a careless, thoughtless, dangerous cadet with no self control, or admitting that perhaps he was medically compromised. When he looked at it that way, it was obvious which was worse - much worse - but that didn't make it any easier to admit.

"I just... reacted. It was like..." Jim trailed off and bit his lip. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and said, "It was like I couldn't think at all. It... it didn't _feel _like me. I think there might still be something wrong with me from the crash... from the head injury. McCoy and I talked about it last night. He said I've been paranoid since the crash."

Saying it himself made him cringe at the sound of his own voice, but he pressed on. He stared down at his hands on his knees. "I don't like to admit it, but I think he's right. This isn't me. I thought because the broken bones had healed up, everything was fine. But... I've been scared of flying. I make stupid decisions and can't figure out why. I'm making it through my classes, but it's like my brain is hazy and not quite _here_. It's been like this since the crash."

He blinked a couple of times, trying to squash the sick feeling of vulnerability at having revealed so much at once, and looked up at Pike hesitantly.

The pained resignation on Pike's face said so much. "You understand what sort of position this puts me in, Kirk."

"I do, sir." He took a bracing breath. "You'll need to put a note in my file, and you'll have to order me to see a psychiatrist." And then, the hardest part. "I'm already planning on it, sir. The psychiatrist, that is."

At that, Pike raised an eyebrow. "Now I _know _you're not feeling like yourself. You're already planning to see a shrink? How much did McCoy have to threaten you to talk you into it?"

Jim forced a mirthless laugh, trying to sound far less nervous and upset than he was.. "He just made me see reason."

"He seems like the sort of guy who'd be good at something like that. He's a good friend for you to have."

"Don't I know it." Jim sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs under the weight of his own guilt. He'd put Bones through hell, when the guy had done nothing less than to risk everything for him. Fuck, he'd put everyone through hell. Medical reasons or not, he felt like he had no excuse. Still, as much as he wanted to just forget about everything, he knew he had to face it head on. Maybe that was the difference between who he was now and who he wanted to be. That was the difference between a man who'd saved eight-hundred lives as his ship crashed and burned, and a man who had failed to save even one.

"Captain Pike," he began, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "I know I've put everyone through hell lately, and I'm sorry. And I'm not going to shirk off the blame for this. I know what I did. Head injury or not, I still did it. I can accept the consequences." He took a deep breath. "And I know I'm here for a formal reprimand, sir."

Pike didn't even blink. "Yes, you are. But I wanted to know what you were going to say before I put it in your file." He pulled out his PADD, and without a word, typed in a few lines. Jim sat silently, waiting, until Pike put the PADD back down with a note of finality. "I've tagged the reprimand with a note that you were possibly compromised due to medical complications at the time of the incident. For now, this isn't going to impact your duties, academic track, or future assignments. That will depend on the report from the psychiatrist."

"Understood, sir."

Pike nodded. "Have him send his reports to me, as well as to the staff at Starfleet Medical. If he states that your actions last night were due to the physical and psychological trauma you've endured, then you won't be found at fault in any official sense." He rested his elbows on his desk, leaning forward. "But Kirk, you'll still need to get your head back on straight if you want to be the Starfleet officer I know you can be. If you can't recover from this, you won't be able to stay in the Command track, or possibly even in Starfleet."

Jim swallowed nervously, digging his fingers into his knees. "I know, sir. And I don't want to let that slip away from me. That's why I'm going to see the psychiatrist. And that's why I'm going to do whatever it takes to get my head right again."

"That can't be easy for a man like you," Pike said, and Jim thought he heard a hint of admiration there.

"No, but I want to fix this, sir. And I want make something of myself here, and to be good at it." Despite the nerves that hadn't gone away, Jim felt a surge of sincerity and determination, and hoped Pike could see it.

For the first time since he'd come into the office, a smile touched Pike's face. "I know, son. And you will be good at it. And I won't give up on you if you don't give up on yourself."

"I'm too stubborn to quit," Jim said, almost feeling hopeful again.

The smile broadened. "Now isn't that the truth?" He shook his head in amusement, then looked back down at his PADD. "We'll be able to keep this from impacting your career too much if you stick to your plan, listen to the doctors, and keep your head down. Medical confidentiality will keep a lot of this out of the limelight, Kirk." He glanced back up and the smile faded. "But I'll have to tell you... the word is out around campus already."

Jim felt his own brief surge of gusto deflate. "I figured as much."

"Do you have a plan to deal with this?"

For a moment, Jim twisted his lips pensively, considering what Bones had told him last night... _The ones who are worth anything will understand_. "I do," Jim said, sounding far more confident than he felt. "I had to rebuild my reputation once, and I can do it again. But this time... I've got friends I can trust." He tilted his head. "Actually... I've got a question, sir."

Pike spread his hands open. "I can't promise anything, but ask."

"Our flight team... we've only got five people now. But... we're moving on to single-pilot crafts next semester. Has there ever been a flight team with just five pilots?"

"No," Pike said thoughtfully. "But I've seen your team in action. And don't look so surprised – you know I've been watching. I don't often say things like this, but you really do have something special going on there with that little group of yours. I like how your team works together. And after all you've been through, it would be a shame to change that."

"We're trying to pick a new candidate. Okoru sent us all the profiles of the folks who want to join. They're good but... you know... they're not Nova Squadron."

"I understand that, Kirk." He leaned back in his chair and looked wistfully at the ceiling. "I've been on a few teams myself, but you can always tell when you've got something special. Some teams, once they're together, you don't break up if you can possibly help it." He looked back down at Jim. "I'll talk to your flight instructor, and the folks who oversee the flight program." His face became serious. "On one condition."

"Anything, sir."

"Promise me you're going to take care of yourself... and do this the right way."

Jim nodded. "If that's what it takes to keep my team together, I'll do it."

Pike gave him a level look. "Then I'll see what I can do." With a telegraphed sigh, he leaned forward and stood. Jim was on his feet half a second later to match him as Pike said, "You're dismissed, Kirk. But... if you need to talk... if you wonder if you're starting to make a bad decision or anything like that... my door is open. Come to me first... before something happens." He held out his hand.

Surprised, Jim took his hand and shook it. "I will, sir. Thank you."

"Good. Now get to class." He dropped Jim's hand. "Make me remember why I wanted you in Starfleet."

"Aye sir. And thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet, Cadet. You've still got to do the work."

Jim nodded, and with a formal salute, he turned and hurried out of the office. A minute later, he was standing on the front step of Archer Hall, staring blankly across the quad. His legs were shaking beneath him, but unlike before his meeting with Pike, this felt like relief. He took a deep, slow breath, trying to get himself together before he faced the rest of campus. It was going to be ugly, he was sure, but he could handle it. He didn't really have a choice.

His class started in fifteen minutes, but he had something he needed to do first.

Pulling out his communicator, he flipped it open and said, "Cadet Kirk to Cadet Okoru."

A moment later, "_Okoru here. I heard what happened last night, Kirk. Team meeting?_"

It was actually reassuring to hear her voice, steady and non-judging, even though she already knew. "Yeah," Jim said. "I need to apologize to everyone. I've also got some news, but mostly, I need to explain to everyone what happened, and what's going on."

"_That's fair. Want to use our study hour_?"

Study hour was something that had worked out schedule-wise for Nova Squadron, when they'd discovered that they all had an hour block of time with no classes on Friday mornings, from 1100 hours to noon. Even though many of their other classes were different, they'd often get together during that hour just to study, eat an early lunch, or socialize. "Study hour would be perfect," Jim answered. "Can we meet out in front of the student center, and then find an empty study room?"

"_Sounds like a plan. I'll contact the rest of the team_."

"Thanks, Okoru."

"_You're welcome. And Kirk? Hang in there. We've got your back, okay?_"

Something warm and tight clenched in Jim's throat, and he blinked a couple of times as he said, "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"_You're more than welcome. Okoru out._"

Jim flipped his communicator shut and looked across the quad at the lecture hall buildings again. Those buildings would be full of cadets who had heard what he'd done. No excuses, no explanations – he'd have to face the gauntlet head on. But he'd survived much worse. And in the end, it would be okay.

In the meantime, however, it was going to suck.

*.&.*


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes:** Poor Jim. The story continues...

*.&.*

At least the flight team hadn't treated him any differently.

Okoru had met him at the door of the Student Center at 1100 hours. The rest of the team was waiting for them inside. Once ensconced in a study room, away from the burning glares from other cadets, the whole story came tumbling out. Even the fact that he was going to see a counselor. _Psychiatrist_ sounded too serious, and he wasn't ready to share that yet. Although Jim had felt nothing but a cold and distant ache at the thought of how thoroughly he'd embarrassed himself, his team unilaterally swore to stand by him. In fact, Thaleb – _Good old Thaleb _– had actually praised Jim for his vigilance.

But still, just as he'd feared, the story had spread all over campus. People in his two morning classes had looked at him warily as if he was about to snap at any moment. Looks of pity, distrust, and disdain mixed in the throng of cadets as he'd made his way from his morning classes to the student center, and after he'd left the solace of his team's company, the looks felt even more scathing as he walked alone to the mess hall.

He did his best to ignore the other cadets around him as he went through the sandwich bar line, and quickly found a seat in the far corner of the mess hall. It didn't much matter. Food had lost its appeal long before he'd made more than a slight dent in his chicken sandwich and salad.

_See, Bones? Healthy stuff._ He wished Bones were there, but the guy had clinic duty. He felt like the eyes of the entire academy population were drilling holes in the back of his neck. _Maybe I'm still paranoid,_ he thought miserably. _Wonder what the shrink is gonna say. _Of course, that thought only made him more miserable and less hungry. Finally, giving up on food, he chucked the tray in the reprocessor, and left the mess hall.

He had almost an hour before his next class, so he settled on going back to the student center to study until then. There were small, private study rooms on the second floor. Nobody to stare at him.

He took the walkway from the mess hall to the student center, looking outside at the cold, gray skies of November, and shivering slightly despite the warm air in the walkway. It really was a cold, uncaring universe out there. He should have known.

The student center was fairly quiet as he walked through the main entryway and across the central foyer and open social area. It was a low room full of columns, half walls, and seating that broke the area into small sections for groups to meet and socialize. Clusters of cadets were scattered around the hall, their voices muffled by the soft corners and wall segments. Vid screens in a few corners broadcast campus, Starfleet, and Federation news.

Snippets of conversation reached Jim's ears as he hurried towards the stairs at the far end of the room. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, but he felt like the world was staring at him. Just a couple more minutes, and he could be ensconced in the privacy of a study room, away from pitying and judgemental eyes alike.

"... and now that team is pulling out of the engine competition, and I say it's because Kirk jumped them in the shuttle hangar."

Jim stopped short at the sound of his name. The conversation was coming from behind one of the low walls. He knew that he that he probably shouldn't, but he couldn't resist – he had to know what was being said. Moving quickly, he sat behind the wall, where he could hear the conversation and not be seen. He grabbed his PADD from his bag and pretended to be studying it, so it wouldn't look odd to any passerby.

"That makes sense," another voice replied. "I mean, I'd hardly feel like sticking around if I was going to get tackled by paranoid cadets."

Jim bristled. _Keep it together. Stay quiet._

"Come on, Yan, you can hardly call him paranoid. He's been through hell, and you've gotta admit, with increased security, it probably looked really odd to see a bunch of unknown civilians messing around with a shuttle late at night."

Jim blinked in surprise. That was Cadet Romano's voice. Of all people, why was Romano defending him?

"Maybe," the female voice – Yan – replied to Romano. "But when you start attacking random civilians because you think someone sabotaged your shuttle –"

"Maybe someone _did _mess with his shuttle," Romano said firmly.

"If they had, then they would have announced something from the investigation. They didn't say a word, so I'd guess Kirk just crashed the shuttle himself and the Academy didn't want their little son-of-a-hero's name ruined."

Jim clutched the edges of his PADD so tightly he was afraid he'd snap it, clenching his jaw furiously to keep himself from speaking out, but the another voice spoke up.

"Easy there, Yan," came a firm female's voice. "Kirk knows how to fly. You should see his test scores. He's at the top of his damned class, and that's got nothing to do with his father. He works his tail off. If his shuttle went down, you can bet your ass that there was something wrong with the shuttle, not Kirk."

Jim didn't recognize that voice, and maybe it was better that way. The sound of someone defending his abilities... it was both an extremely welcomed relief, and also a bit uncomfortable.

"Exactly," Romano cut in again. "The guy knows what he's doing. And nobody said it was sabotage, precisely..."

"Kirk did," someone else said sharply. "Everyone who was in the hangar heard him."

"There weren't many people in the hangar, so how can we really verify that? And... yeah, it's possible someone altered it, but we can't be sure it was sabotage." Romano's voice didn't sound quite right, and Jim clenched his teeth again. Now there was no doubt in his mind that Admiral Romano had told his son all about the investigation.

_Classified material, you bastard_.

"I agree with Yan. If someone did sabotage – or _alter _– the shuttle," came another voice, a bass-toned male this time, "I'd think the Academy would have announced it. But they haven't said anything. Even if Kirk didn't cause the crash, why not announce the results of the investigation? "

"Security, probably," said another voice. "You know they don't tell us everything."

"And by the way, Romano, why the hell are you defending Kirk?" the deep male voice asked. "I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I respect him," came Romano's fervent reply. "And you ought to as well."

Jim's mouth fell open as he stared blankly at the screen of his PADD. That was the last thing he'd ever expected to hear. Sure, he knew that he and Romano had a mutual professional respect despite their rivalry, but hearing it so directly was... surprising.

"Then why are you always talking shit about him?"

"Because who wants to admit they've been bested by someone ranked below them? Kirk's that good. Come on. Nadeau, you were on his sim squad last year. Tell me what you think."

"He's annoyingly good," Nadeau admitted as Jim blinked again in further surprise at the sound of his old squad mate's voice. "Okay, so he's just good. Really good. We all respected him. Hell, he'd even cover for us during sims if we slipped up. And he's got good instincts. At least, he did until yesterday."

"Maybe he still does," Romano said, his tone still sounding odd. "Just misplaced. But think about it – if your shuttle had been altered somehow, and you'd crashed, and one of us had died next to you, wouldn't you be looking for the person who did it?"

"I suppose." That was Yan.

"And wouldn't you be just a little bit on-edge about it? And more likely to jump if you thought someone was about to hurt someone else?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the group, and Jim felt a flash of vindication.

"Okay, so regardless of what Kirk did or didn't do... now that the engine competition is open for submissions again, what do you think is going to happen?" asked one of the male voices Kirk didn't recognize. "Do you think they're going to start from scratch, or just open it up to the smaller pool of candidates they'd already picked from an earlier round? Or maybe just stick with the three remaining teams? I know a team of cadets had tried to submit a design at one point, but they didn't make it past the second round of eliminations."

"Who knows? But could you imagine what that would do for a person's career with Starfleet? If I were in the engineering program, I'd be trying for it. Romano, your father is in the Engineering section, right? What does he think?"

"I... uh... he really doesn't talk about work much. I mean, I barely even see him. I'm specializing in security and tactics, so I've got nothing to do with the engineering stuff. And when I do see him, he really doesn't talk about work." He laughed, and it was an uncomfortable sound. "Besides, if I talked to him about work at home, next thing I know, he's the Admiral and I'm the Cadet, and that just gets weird."

There was laughing all around, and Jim frowned. Had the Admiral told Romano about the investigation or not? Now, Jim wasn't so sure. There was no way to know, and Jim wasn't about to ask.

"Come on, guys," Romano said, "are we going to review for this test or not?"

"Okay, okay."

The chatter turned to landing party security, and Jim knew he'd heard enough. Tucking his PADD back in his bag, he slid off the seat and ducked away. The last thing he wanted was to be noticed by the group here.

*.&.*

By the time Jim made it back to his dorm, he was tired of dealing with sentient life in all its variations, and really wanted nothing more than crawl into bed and pretend the world didn't exist for a few hours. He'd known that facing the consequences of his debacle the previous night would be rough, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so bad.

Despite the boost of assurance he'd felt after overhearing the conversation from Romano's study group, the confidence was quickly spent. The wary looks from his fellow cadets hadn't stopped all day. He'd overheard more than a few harsh comments. And then, to make matters worse, he'd received a communiqué from Pike at the end of his last class, apologizing, but ordering him to meet with a counselor that afternoon. Apparently, some higher brass in security and engineering had demanded it. They couldn't let some crazy, civilian-attacking cadet wander loose around campus without having been fully analyzed by the shrink of their choice. Pike's message promised that once he saw the psychiatrist Bones had recommended, he'd be able to ditch the counselor, but it didn't stop him from sitting through an hour of pseudo-sympathy, which had only succeeded in making him more frustrated.

As he'd talked, he realized that even with the most rational thoughts he could muster, he couldn't dismiss the ongoing, burning anger that there was _still _someone out there, wandering free, who had caused the whole thing. That whatever the investigation had found, or hadn't found, he didn't _know_.

Given the current circumstances, chances were that he'd never know. Documents had been buried more deeply than even _he _could hack. The physical evidence had either been vaporized or locked away in rooms he'd never have clearance to enter. All he had left were his gnawing suspicions that he had to ignore and forget if he ever wanted to get his head back to normal.

Still, he couldn't talk about his suspicions without the lady _hmmm_'ing and _aaaaah_'ing with infuriating calmness. So fucking obnoxious. It felt condescending. Why the hell people thought counseling was such a wonderful thing was beyond him.

So, by the end of the day, he was sick of talking, sick of listening, and sick to death of needing to explain himself. At least his roommate, if he was there, was usually pretty good about keeping to himself as long as Jim left him alone to his gadgets and study notes. This could be a quiet night in his own room, and maybe he could talk to Bones tomorrow, and they could go into the city if Bones didn't have clinic duty.

He needed to get away for a while. Re-set his thoughts. Take a deep breath. This sucked, but he could get through it.

The turbolift dropped Jim at his floor, and he made his way down the hall. As he got to his door, he was just about to punch in his access code when he heard voices from inside the room. Jim frowned. Sven hadn't brought anyone to the dorm room since they'd become roommates at the beginning of the year.

Feeling a bit odd spying on his own dorm room, Jim pressed his ear to the door.

"... and if you think I'm going to give up now, just when they've opened the field for submissions again, you're delusional." That was Sven.

"Listen, I'm not saying you should give up, I'm... well, maybe I am. But Hagenbuch, it's too risky. I helped you before because I didn't think it was risky. Or dangerous." And that was...

_That's Romano. What the fuck is going on here?_

"You helped me before because you wanted some of the credit if it worked."

"Well, that too, but –"

"And I would have to thank you doubly - in addition to access to the shuttle bay, you distracted the girl who remained behind while the rest of the squad went to breakfast. I hadn't anticipated them leaving a guard."

"I shouldn't have done –"

"You did."

"Okay, so yeah. But I'm telling you now, if you try this again, I'll report you. Right to the top, not to my father."

Sven laughed, and Jim hadn't known the guy could sound that... nasty. "And if you do that, you're going down, too."

"You think I don't know that? That's why I'm saying you need to stop this now. It's not worth it. For fuck's sake, Sven – a cadet _died_. Doesn't that mean more to you than your fucking engine design?"

Jim blinked. Felt his mouth fall open. _No. This isn't right. It's impossible. It's paranoia. This isn't –_

"If Kirk hadn't altered the engine schematic during his flight, the test device would have been harmless. It would have continued tracking engine output and rerouting power, only. But the power reroute clashed with his modifications."

_NO._

"Why'd you have to use his shuttle, Sven? God, Kirk's the one guy on campus who wouldn't let an efficiency drop go unnoticed. Of all the people, why him?"

"Because I have his passcode. He's very predictable, and not so careful around me. When I showed him a few engineering tricks, I saw him use it. So I had access to his shuttle."

"Are you really that heartless?"

"I'm a scientist. I care for results." There was a loud thud. "If you hadn't caught me in the hangar the first time, you would have nothing to do with this, just as if Kirk had not touched the engine, he would not have crashed. This is not your design. If you want out of this, leave now, but my research is too important. Now that there's a chance to have my design accepted for the competition, I need to try it again."

Jim felt a deep fury slowly building in his chest as his shoulders tightened and fists clenched. This wasn't paranoia. This was real. It was right in front of him, and there was no way to mistake what he was hearing.

"Then do it the right way! Talk to the Engineering research admins. I'll pull strings with my father. Just don't –" Romano was pleading now.

"My proposal was rejected twice," Sven said flatly, "without the Engineering professors even testing the computer models. I approached one of the engineering teams in the competition with my design, and they also rejected me. It's because I'm only a Cadet Third Class. But my design is flawless. It's going to work. And I'm going to do it. So either get out of my way, or we both take the fall. I doubt you're willing to sacrifice your career for this."

And Jim had heard quite enough. He punched his passcode into the door panel, and as soon as it slid opened, be burst into the room.

Romano and Sven were almost nose-to-nose, but turned in shock as Jim stormed in. "I've heard enough."

"Kirk! I... you were... you heard..." Romano stammered, eyes wide with fear.

"Shut up! You knew all along. The whole fucking time, Romano!" He stepped up to Sven, glaring. Heat and red crept up in his vision as his world zoomed in on the pale, peaky face of his roommate. "And _you_. You... you fucking _bastard_! It was you! You –"

For a second, Jim's gaze slipped past Sven's shoulder to the desk, covered in its usual mess of electronic bits and equipment, but this time, there was also something disturbingly familiar. It was a small box-shaped device. A few wires and conduits protruded from various ports on the box. Generally, it was quite nondescript, but familiar... so familiar. And then it all clicked together, memory coming back to him in a dizzying rush.

He'd seen that box before. Just once. In the shuttlecraft engine. Moments before he'd crashed.

Growling, he shoved Sven out of the way and grabbed the device off the desk. "This was it, wasn't it? A goddamned fucking test device! This caused the mess in the engine!" With a howl of rage, he hurled the box across the room, narrowly missing Sven's head. It slammed into the bookshelf, sending a row of books, holo frames, and other items crashing violently to the ground.

"Kirk, calm down. Let's –"

"DON'T! Don't fucking talk to me, Romano!" he snarled as he stormed at Sven, grabbing the guy by the shoulders and pushing him back against the wall, slamming him hard with a satisfying thud. "You should have reported this. You should have fucking _told _me, you asshole! Tell me why I shouldn't break your fucking neck, you goddamned bastard!"

Confronted by the sudden physicality, Sven only gaped at him wordlessly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Jim shook him, slamming him against the wall again. "Well!? Give me one goddamned reason why I shouldn't! You wanted to practice your engineering bullshit on my shuttlecraft. Tell me why I shouldn't practice my hand-to-hand on you! _Tell me_!"

Romano held up a hand. "Kirk, don't... it's not – "

"Shut up!" Jim hauled his arm back, cocking his elbow and clenching his hand into a fist. Sven squeezed his eyes shut, like the pathetic coward he was, and that was all it took. With a roar of fury, Jim drove his fist right past Sven's face, missing his nose by inches, and smashed his hand clear through the wall.

The room went dead silent. Slowly, Jim pulled his fist out of the hole he'd just made in the duraplast wallboard, noting with a sick satisfaction that the edges of the hole had blood on them. Sven's eyes popped open when he realized that Jim wasn't about to hit him, and he stared with terrified eyes, clearly not sure if he should stay very still or run for his life.

Jim took a step back, but lowered his head, glaring darkly. "Get out," he growled. "Both of you. Get out."

Romano took a hesitant step towards him. "Kirk, maybe –"

"I said get the fuck out of here!"

Sven blinked once, and then moved faster than Jim had ever seen him move before. He grabbed his boots without putting them on and rushed out the door. Romano stopped in the doorway. For a moment, looked like he was going to say something, but Jim took a step towards him, and he went slightly pale and hurried out the door.

The door slid shut, and Jim was alone in the room. He felt like something had been ripped from him.

There had been no malicious sabotage.

It hadn't been Terra Prime.

It wasn't attempted murder.

It had been his fucking _roommate_, doing a goddamned _experiment_.

And if he'd left it alone... hadn't tried to fix the unexplained drop in efficiency... like Tambe had told him... Tambe would still be alive.

It was all so... _pointless_.

He felt so numb that it almost came as a surprise when his hand started to ache. Jim lifted up his right hand and stared at it in detached amusement at the blood oozing down from his smashed knuckles. A couple of bones were obviously broken.

_Bones._ A twisted laugh worked its way through his throat. _Bones. What would Bones say?_

With another laugh like a sob, Jim pulled his communicator off his belt with his left hand and flipped it open.

"Kirk to McCoy."

A few seconds passed. "_McCoy here. What's going on?_"

"Bones... I need you to come to my dorm room."

"_Jim? Are you okay? You don't sound right, kid._"

Another laugh slipped past the choke in his throat. This one sounded even more like a sob. "No, Bones. It's not right. It's really, really not alright."

"_Jim... I... just stay there. I'm coming, okay? Just stay there._" He sounded worried.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones." He flipped the comm unit shut and numbly placed it back on his belt as he took a few steps through the room. He wanted to smash something, but at the same time, it was so numb and distant, he just couldn't dredge up the energy to do it. He was tired, so tired.

Another laugh – no, this time, it was really nothing but a sob – broke the silence in the room. And then another. He walked to the far wall and pressed his back against it as he slid to the floor, laughing and sobbing all at once at the cruelty of a universe that never gave a shit and never would.

"I'm not going anywhere."

*.&.*

Time turned into a stuffy fog around Jim; thick and unmoving, holding him in place. Even if he hadn't promised Bones he wouldn't move, he couldn't have done so anyway. His limbs felt heavy and dead, and even his skin didn't feel like his own. The air in the room was cold and stinging, but it was too much effort to tell the computer to raise the temperature.

The chime of the door broke through the thickness, and time almost moved again. Bones was outside in the hallway, pounding at the door now. The thought that he should answer the door briefly crossed Jim's mind, but his mouth just didn't want to form words. And somehow, he didn't think his legs would hold him if he tried to get up. It didn't matter. Bones had his access code. No, it didn't matter at all. Everything was numb, and it didn't fucking matter.

So pointless. So wrong. Didn't fucking matter.

And then Bones was there in front of him, saying something. There was a familiar whirring sound, and a warm hand was slapping his cheek. He blinked a few times, feeling slow and sluggish.

"Jim, goddammit, answer me!"

"I'm... here, Bones." His voice sounded rusty and dry, hardly like his own voice.

A heavy sigh of relief from Bones. "Thank God... Jim, what the hell did you do to your hand? You..." The familiar sound was a tricorder near his head, Jim finally realized. "Kid, you're in shock. Talk to me. What happened?"

"I punched the wall. Better than... than punching... punching Sven. It was... it was Sven." Something tight spasmed in his chest, like a bitter laugh or a sob, he wasn't sure which. "And Romano knew... he knew... but it was Sven..."

A hypospray hissed against his neck, and Bones was checking his pulse manually and shaking his head with a frown. It was all so distant. "Your roommate? What about him?"

"He did it, Bones. Engineering experiment. The shuttle crash. Sven did it."

Bones' head shot up, eyes wide. He stared for a few seconds, and the intensity and shock in that gaze was the only thing that pierced the haze around Jim's brain. Then Bones blinked a couple of times and quickly stowed his tricorder. "We need to get you to the infirmary. Fix that hand of yours."

"And report Sven," Jim said, still feeling detached from his own voice.

"Yes, Jim... and report Sven."

The world spun dizzily around him as Bones helped him to his feet, supporting him as he stumbled. The parka Bones wrapped around him felt heavy and suffocating. He didn't understand why he was so shaky. It was cold inside, but even colder outside, and he couldn't stop shivering. He only distantly recognized the fact that Bones was dressing him, helping him walk, leading him. Didn't matter... it was all too far away. None of it fucking mattered.

There was a transport vehicle arriving in front of his dorm as they reached the walkway – Bones must have called it – and someone was pulling a stretcher out of the back.

"Come on, Jim. Lie down."

He was too dazed to protest.

The trip to the infirmary was a blur. Bones kept asking him questions... about Sven, about Romano, about what happened. He might have answered. He was pretty sure he did, but it all crumpled together.

The lights of the infirmary waiting room were glaring and bright after the dull gray of late evening and the dim interior of the vehicle. He kept talking as Bones brought him to a room. He was deposited on a biobed, and there was motion around him. Voices. Someone doing something to his hand. Another hypospray, and darkness finally crept up around him.

*.&.*

The sensation of a slow wake-up reached Jim through layers of fog and darkness. There was a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice nearby.

"Bones...?" He blinked a few times, and the familiar face to match the voice swam into focus.

"Yeah, kid. I'm here."

Jim groaned and reached up a hand to scrub at his face, only to be met by the fact that his hand was encased in a duraplast splint. Grumbling as he began to remember flashes of the events that had brought him here, he reached up with his other hand and rubbed his eyes. "How long have I been out?"

"Seven hours, Jim."

_That_ caught Jim's attention. "Seven hours?" He scrambled awkwardly to sit up, and Bones helped him. "You kept me sedated for seven hours?"_  
_  
"I didn't sedate you, Jim," Bones said tiredly, and Jim finally noticed the deep circles under his eyes. "You passed out. As soon as I gave you pain meds for your hand, you were out cold."

Jim frowned. "My hand... it... it didn't hurt."

Bones merely snorted. "I'm not surprised. You were in a pretty nasty state of shock, and I'm going to guess that it had absolutely nothing to do with your hand. I'm surprised you were speaking as coherently as you did." His expression became serious. "You said a lot."

"I said..." Jim felt his eyes go wide. "Sven... and Romano. Shit... Bones, did I tell you? It was Sven. I... I got back to the room, and I heard -"

"Whoa, Jim. Slow down." He rested a warm hand on Jim's shoulder. "Yes, you told me. And yes, you were out of it, but I know you, Jim. And I knew this was real, not paranoia. So I contacted Captain Pike."

Jim blinked a few times. "You contacted Pike?" he echoed vaguely.

Bones nodded. "I did. And a lot has happened in seven hours."

"But it's..." Jim glanced up at the chrono on the wall. "It's 0200 hours. On a Friday night... Saturday morning.. Nothing happens on a Friday night."

"It did this time, kid. A whole lot happened. But you'll find out more later, once the dust settles." The hand resting on Jim's shoulder squeezed a bit tighter. "Pike's on top of things, though. They're still working on it, but I think he's got a good handle on stuff. He said he wants to speak to you in the morning."

A cold knot settled in Jim's gut. "He wants... oh fuck. Am I in trouble again?"

Bones shook his head gently. "No, Jim. You're not in trouble. Not at all." He withdrew his hand. "But you _are _exhausted and recovering from a pretty rough evening."

"Then I… guess I should go back to my dorm room."

"Actually, you're coming back to my dorm."

Jim frowned. "I only broke my hand. I'm fine."

Bones pressed his lips into a grim line. "Even if you were, your room is being treated as a crime scene right now. No access. At least Pike was good enough to ask the security team guarding it to get your PADD and some clean clothes for you."

All Jim could say was, "Oh."

Bones chuckled lightly as he reached over to the hook on the wall and grabbed a parka. He stood in front of Jim as he wrapped it around his shoulders. "Come on, kid. Let's get you home."

*.&.*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes:** Ah, the joy of fandom. I just went to a slash/yaoi convention here at home, and I'll be heading out of town for another convention in a couple of days. There shall be costumes, slash, geekery, more costumes, Star Trek, parties, and even more costumes. So... I apologize for getting a bit distracted from posting. I'll get these last two posted quickly for you. Just one more to go after this one! Enjoy!

*.&.*

It took Jim a moment to fight past the odd disorientation that clung to him as he woke up on Saturday morning. Bones' dorm room was familiar as always, but he was more accustomed to the view from the couch. His brain was fuzzy, and the light streaming in the window was soothing and soft. Jim blinked a few times, trying to remember why today was so different.

There was a clanking sound from the kitchen, and Jim caught the aroma of Bones' best coffee filling the air. He grinned to himself, stretched... and noticed the duraplast splint on his hand.

And it all came flooding back.

With a groan, he sat up in bed. "Hey Bones, is the coffee ready?" His voice was rough in his throat.

"Yeah, Jim. Just a moment. I'll bring you some."

That almost tugged a smile back onto his face. "I'm not an invalid, Bones," he said, standing up unsteadily and walking around the room divider. "I know you have a genetic need to play nursemaid, but I can get my own coffee."

Bones greeted him with his best scowl. "I'm a doctor, not a damned nursemaid, kid, and you'd better remember that."

Jim chuckled dryly, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. "No problem. So, _doctor_, I kinda forgot to ask, when does the splint come off?"

"Angels and saints," Bones mumbled to himself. "And here I thought you'd learned some patience after all of this." He reached over with the carafe and filled Jim's mug before topping off his own canteen.

"I'm patient, Bones. Just asking."

"Just until tomorrow, kid, then a couple of days without putting weight or pressure on your hand. Simple, clean breaks." He held up his mug and gave Jim a meaningful look. "But next time, try not punching holes in the walls in the first place."

Jim grimaced and took a sip of his coffee, following Bones to the table. "Well, call it a thinking decision. Actually, Bones, you should be proud of me for that one."

Eyebrows furrowed together darkly. "Proud of you for busting your hand through a wall?"

"It was either that or Sven's face."

Skepticism was replaced by begrudging understanding. "Okay. I can accept that. Mostly. Although the bastard would have deserved it." He looked at Jim intently for a moment before heaving a sigh into his cup of coffee. "So, Jim -"

"How much did I say last night?" Jim interrupted, not wanting to let the conversation lead him. "I don't really remember much."

"Not surprised," Bones mumbled. "You said you came back to your room and overheard Sven and Romano. Caught it all. You found the device you'd seen in the shuttlecraft engine - your roommate must have been building another one. And yeah, Jim... you were right this time. That was it. It... it really was your roommate."

"Doing a fucking experiment," Jim said vaguely.

"Yeah."

Thoughts swirled in Jim's mind - Sven and Romano and the insanity of the past few weeks. Like a dampening field fading away, his mind suddenly seemed clearer, and concepts began snapping together. Small snippets of information that had seemed irrelevant or inconsequential began weaving into a pattern.

"Sven said that Romano ran into him... he wasn't part of Sven's plans," he mused aloud. "Probably happened in the hangar, or somewhere in Engineering. I'll bet... I'll bet Sven was trying to get into the hangar, and... remember how I got into the flight sim area without swiping my badge? I used yours to get in, and Sven could have gotten Romano to let him in, in exchange for some sort of credit if the experiment worked. Romano is a prestige hound. If he could ride the coattails of someone smarter, get his name on a successful project without much work, then that's the sort of thing he might do to boost his record. And with his father in Engineering, it would have impressed the Admiral, too." He glanced up at Bones.

In turn, Bones merely raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

"That's why Romano was so nervous about me thinking it was him. The day I got out of the hospital, Bones... that's why he wanted to make sure I didn't think he'd done it."

"I figured as much," he said with a slow nod, "once I put it together with what happened last night."

"But there's more to it." Jim bit on his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth for a moment as he fiddled with his coffee cup in his hands. "I... forget what Romano and I were talking about... but he was pestering me at breakfast one morning... and I got pissed at him and said that his father was leading the investigation. I... I don't think he knew." Jim felt his own eyes go wide. "He didn't know! Shit, Bones, they closed the investigation the next day!"

"Oh?" Bones was leaning over his coffee, listening intently.

Jim nodded. "I'll bet he went to his father, knowing that the investigation could lead back to him. If he told his father himself, he might get out of it with less damage if the admiral decided to cover for him. Strategy - he was trying to protect his own ass. Admiral Romano would have had a personal interest in this mess, too. He's in charge of the Engineering department, so all this engine competition stuff was under his umbrella. If his son was involved in causing the crash, it could have caused a lot of trouble for him. So it would make sense for him to call off the investigation before his own son was incriminated."

"Makes sense," Bones said with a growl. "Self-serving old bastards, but it's the more pathetic side of human nature."

"Maybe... but..." He stared at the far wall, with his mouth hanging slightly open. "It's my fault that the official investigation was called off. If I hadn't said anything to Cadet Romano, he couldn't have gone to his father, and they wouldn't have called off the investigation."

"You couldn't have known that, Jim," Bones said with a note of disbelief. "There's no way you could have even begun to predict that."

"No." Jim's voice sounded bleak to his own ears. "But that doesn't mean it didn't happen that way. I set off a chain reaction, without even realizing it."

Bones shrugged noncommittally and took a sip of his coffee.

"Just like I set off the chain reaction in the shuttlecraft."

Bones' hand slammed down on the table, hard enough to cause the coffee in his mug to ripple angrily. "You stop that horse shit right now. Not another word of it, Jim."

"No, Bones... I'm not blaming myself. Believe it or not." He laughed, feeling a bit crazy. "You and Pike and everyone else have been telling me it's not all about me. Ever since the crash... it's not all about me. And fuck, Bones, you're all dead-on right. Because it could have been anyone with an anti-social basketcase engineer for a roommate. Anyone who wasn't careful enough with his passcode. Anyone who tried to fix the engine." He laughed again; a sharp, abbreviated sound. "All the things I did, the mistakes I made, the shit I ran into... it could have been anyone."

Bones was frowning now. "Jim?"

"I'm nothing special, Bones. That's the point. I stumbled into a vat of shit, almost drowned in it, and was finally thrown a rope last night. I didn't solve the mystery. Didn't fix anything. I just... made it through."

For a long moment, Bones stared at him pensively, then let out a heavy sigh. "Sometimes, kid, that's good enough."

"Sometimes."

"But goddammit, Jim, if you ever downplay yourself... I don't want to hear that out of you again. Do you read me?"

Jim gave a wan smile. "Loud and clear, Bones. Loud and clear." He looked down at his coffee again. "Anyway, it really does all fit together. Even... shit, even the timing of when Sven cleaned out the room. That was also the night after I told Romano that his father was leading the investigation, right before the investigation was closed. Romano must have warned Sven, who decided the risk was too big, and dumped the whole project. No wonder he didn't want me to help carry his crap out of the room. He was removing the evidence." He shook his head in a twisted sort of amusement. "It was right under my nose the whole time. I should have seen it."

"You didn't see it before, Jim, but how could you expect yourself to? Nobody would have expected that. And head injuries can make it almost impossible to focus. But now that you're..." Suddenly, a smile spread across Bones' face.

"What, Bones?"

"Jim... you sound like you again."

"What do you mean?"

"You're thinking. It's this look you get when you're pulling a puzzle together out of midair. You get this look like you can see everything." He blinked a couple of times and grinned even more broadly. "It's good to see it again."

Jim smiled back, not fully feeling it, but he did understand exactly what Bones had meant. Maybe he'd finally healed. Perhaps it was just one of many spurts of improvement. Maybe he'd just needed a good shock to the system to snap him out of it. Or maybe, after all that, he just really needed answers. But still... "It feels pretty good, too."

A slightly uneasy silence fell over the table as Bones went back to sipping his coffee, reading something on his PADD. Jim stared into the darkness of his coffee and wished he'd dumped some cream into it before sitting down, but not much feeling like moving again. Bones kept cream in his small fridge just for him; Bones always drank his coffee black. It was one of those odd little things that defined their friendship. The thought helped, even if he didn't much feel like getting up. The knowledge that it was there was enough.

The scraping of a chair made Jim look up. Bones stepped over to the fridge, pulled out the small container of cream, and came back with it. Without a word, he poured just the right amount into Jim's cup, then put the cream back in the fridge. Jim watched the whole thing silently, just staring as Bones sat back down.

"What, kid?"

Slowly, Jim smiled, and it felt like the first real smile he'd had in ages. Without a word, he raised his coffee cup in a simple thanks and took a sip.

*.&.*

"Come." Pike's voice sounded through the comm panel, and the door slid open.

Trying not to feel nervous, Jim walked into Captain Pike's office. His most recent visit to that office had been extremely unpleasant, and the memory was still fresh in his mind. He came to the position of attention and started to bring his hand up to salute, but Pike waved him down.

"Relax, Kirk. Have a seat. If we've both got to be in here on a Saturday, let's not make this any more stressful than it has been already."

Jim frowned as he eased himself into the seat. "You told me to report, sir. I assumed it was formal."

To his surprise, Pike shrugged. "Appearances. Actually, I just wanted you to know first, before the whole campus finds out on Monday."

"Know what?" Jim asked, but he already had a pretty good suspicion.

Pike nodded knowingly. "The whole cover-up unraveled last night, Kirk. This... it's one of the ugliest scandals the Academy has seen in decades... and it's so... just so..."

"Stupid?" Jim supplied.

A grim nod. "That would be an appropriate description. The Admiral covered up for Cadet Romano in order to save face. Cadet Romano covered for Cadet Hagenbuch at first because he wanted credit for work he hadn't done, and then later so he wouldn't get in trouble, too."

Jim pressed his lips together. "I figured as much."

"I thought you might. And Hagenbuch... is apparently a sociopath."

Jim felt his eyes go wide. "Whoa, wait a minute - I was rooming with a damned _sociopath_? I... I'm sorry, sir, but how the hell did he get past the psych profile?"

"I hate to say it, but the same way you get past all sorts of technicalities - you're both damned geniuses. But in his case, it's a bit more sinister. He knew what the psych eval was looking for, and breezed through. Plus, with an IQ like his, people were probably too willing to overlook a couple of psych glitches."

Jim sagged back in his chair, letting out a slow breath through tightly pursed lips. "I guess I should be glad he didn't just murder me in my sleep."

Pike shook his head. "He's more self-serving and strategic than that. An intentional murder wouldn't fit his profile."

Jim couldn't hold back the derisive snort. "How reassuring." Then a cold sensation lodged in his throat. "But he doesn't care about collateral damage."

"No, son," Pike said softly. "He doesn't."

"Which is why... even after what happened to Tambe -" _And what almost happened to me..._"- he was willing to try it again."

Pike nodded, then said, "But he won't get the chance."

Jim sat up a bit straighter in his seat, feeling a wire-tight tension in his back. "So... what's going to happen to him? To all of them?"

"Gone. All of them."

And in a snap, the tension released, and Jim sagged into his chair, head resting against the back as he blew out a deep breath. Staring at the ceiling, not looking at Pike, he asked, "Where?"

"Hagenbuch is being taken to a psychiatric detention ward. They'll evaluate him further, but whether he ends up staying there or going to a regular detention facility, he won't be getting out for a long time."

Jim nodded vaguely. "Good. And the Romano duo?"

"Cadet Romano has already been removed from the Academy. He'll be tried by a Federation court on charges of obstructing justice and hindering a murder investigation. And the Admiral..." There was a slight pause, and Jim tipped his head back down to look at Pike's tense, grim, apologetic look. "A Starfleet officer needs to hold himself to a higher standard, Kirk. His duty... first and foremost... is to the truth. Not just lies, but hidden knowledge, information not shared... it's how people die out there in the black."

There was an odd note in Pike's voice, and Jim frowned, leaning forward in his seat. "Sir?"

"Cadet and Admiral Romano both willfully withheld information. Neither of them _caused _the accident... but in Starfleet's eyes, they're almost as guilty. Kirk... when you're out there in the black, maybe even in command, you need every piece of information you can get. That's why you need your people to communicate with you. At all costs, whatever effort or personal sacrifice, even if you get burned for it, your first duty is to the truth."

Jim swallowed tightly, now knowing why this had shaken Captain Pike so deeply, but realizing it must be significant. "Yes, sir," he said, swearing a solemn oath to himself never to withhold vital information. Nobody would die because Jim Kirk refused to stick his neck out.

Pike nodded evenly, but his face was tight. "As I said, as an officer – a flag officer, no less – the Admiral needed to be held to a higher standard. He was reduced in rank to Ensign before having his commission revoked. Pending judgement, he's looking at serving a solid ten years in a Starfleet detention center."

"That's..." Jim hesitated to say _good news_, but he was glad to hear that something was being done. "I'm glad they caught them and solved the mystery, but... sir... if you don't mind me asking, you seem really troubled by what happened to the Admiral."

Pike sighed and leaned heavily on his desk. "I'm troubled by the whole thing, Kirk. Troubled that it happened in the first place." He clenched his fists in front of him, and his jaw tensed fiercely. "That you were the one to discover the truth in such a horrible way."

Unsure what to say to that, Jim gave an awkward nod.

"And it's just as troubling," Pike continued, "if not more so, to learn that a Starfleet officer of such a high rank... in such a position of _trust_... would violate the trust of every person serving under him like that. It's a blow to every senior officer in the Fleet."

"Including you," Jim said, understanding.

"Including me." He shook his head to himself. "There were some ugly things that happened in that investigation, Kirk. Things you shouldn't know about. Things that you'll have to pretend you know nothing about. Officers maneuvering to promote their damned favorite engine designs, people playing games with need-to-know information. It was ugly, but I never thought it would be this dirty. Stupid coincidences and power games. Too many little mistakes and missed pieces of information along the way. They're going to review the entire course of the investigation to see what was missed, but it won't change what happened." He looked up, eyes sharp and dark. "I'm just sorry that you got caught in the crossfire."

Jim could only nod. He had nothing to say. _Caught in the crossfire. That's all this was. _It was an odd reminder that he was just another person in a much larger universe. And sometimes, shit happens, and you just happen to be there when it does.

"But," Pike said briskly, suddenly sitting up much straighter. "Enough of that for now. I've actually got some good news to share with you."

Jim raised his eyebrows. Good news would be a welcome and refreshing change. "Oh?"

"I spoke to a few people this morning. Admiral Barnett, Captain Tanner... some of the folks down in the Piloting and Navigation program. I got the preliminary report back from the counselor you saw, too, and it was very much in your favor. So everyone agreed..." His voice trailed off. He reached down and tapped his PADD, then spun it around on his desk so Jim could read it.

_Memorandum: The Piloting and Navigation Program hereby recommissions the trainee flight team known as _Nova Squadron_ as a five-pilot flight team. This shall be regarded as a trial commission, and may be revoked if early training records indicate that a five-pilot team is sub-optimal for training purposes. Charter members shall include Flight Team Leader Cadet Hoshi Okoru, Cadet Jeanelle d'Eon, Cadet Avery Freeman, Cadet James Kirk, and Cadet Thaleb. Authorized by Admiral Barnett, Starfleet Academy Command.  
_  
Jim read it quickly, then again, to make certain he was reading it correctly. When he looked up from the PADD, Captain Pike was leaning back in his chair, watching him with a smile that seemed deeply pleased, and maybe a little bit proud. Jim swallowed past the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat. "Sir?"

"It's just a trial run, Kirk. They may decide that a flight squad really does need six pilots, and that you'll need to find a sixth by the start of the next semester, or in the very least, by the start of the next academic year, but for now... your team is still together." He tilted his head towards the door. "So... go tell them. Everyone could use some good news today."

Pike stood, and Jim was on his feet a split second later. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was the thrill of keeping his flight squad together, the relief of having answers, the vindication of having been cleared by the counselor, or some odd combination, but he couldn't wait to run out the doors of Archer Hall and comm his teammates. He had to tell Bones what happened to Sven and the Romanos. Had to...

"And Kirk?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Just a suggestion… not strictly as your advisor… maybe you should send your mother a communiqué. I think she might appreciate it after all this."

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but held back. For a moment, he let the thought simmer, feeling it out, re-testing his gut reaction. Slowly, he nodded. "I think I'll do that, sir. Anything else?"

At that, Pike smirked. "Yes, actually. If you'd formed your fist properly and struck with the flat of your two front knuckles, you wouldn't have smashed your hand along with the wall. Just some valuable information, in case you ever need it again."

A flush of embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks. Of course he knew that. "Yes, Captain."

"Good then. So get out of my office! I'd love to have part of my Saturday to myself, you know."

Not needing any further encouragement, Jim threw a quick salute and hurried out of the office. He had his comm unit in his hand before he'd even gotten back outside. He had to comm Okoru. He had to comm Bones. But as he raised the communicator to his mouth, he paused and looked around.

The campus was almost deserted around him. It wasn't even 1100 hours yet, and only a few cadets and cadre were crossing the quad under the broken clouds of an early November sky. The breeze was crisp and cool, and for the first time in ages, Jim felt as though he could take a properly deep breath. It seemed as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and now unburdened, he could start moving forward again.

A second sensation gripped him. Although he felt blissfully free compared to the stifling stress of the previous few weeks, he also felt oddly small, and possibly even insignificant.

Life on the campus was rolling on, and it would continue whether or not he was there. Whether or not he'd learned the truth last night, and had been given the news of the aftermath this morning. Whether or not he'd joined Starfleet in the first place. It wasn't about him.

Beyond that, the grandiosity of the Golden Gate Bridge rose above the rooftops of the campus buildings... a monument to human engineering that had lasted centuries and was still functioning today. It would still be there tomorrow, and probably a hundred years later - with or without Jim Kirk. And far beyond the bright blue of the sky, an entire galaxy spread out, teeming with sentient life, all of which would go on with or without him. And then, past the farthest reaches of the galactic rim, another million, million galaxies like this one.

And here was James T. Kirk, standing on the surface of one small, class-M planet... a speck on the face of the universe.

Oddly, the thought was reassuring. It meant that he was free to enjoy that existence, and make of it what he would. All things would pass, and life would go on. And he was determined that his own personal go of it was going to be a blast.

With a small smile, he flipped open his comm. "Cadet Kirk to Cadet Okoru..."

*.&.*

Leonard had left Jim on the main campus quad to meet with Pike, then caught the shuttle over to Starfleet Medical. To his amusement, Doctor Swerdlow had wanted him to take a look at some of the early results they were getting with his neurovascular regen units. With the expanded resource base for the project, it was moving along quite rapidly, and would probably go to clinical trials within a couple more months. It was hard to watch it progress without him, but at least the project wasn't dead. And at least they were keeping him in the loop.

But the meeting had also turned into a discussion about his new aviophobia project, spanning the topics of psychology, neurophysiology, and even some unorthodox cellular regeneration techniques. Leonard's abstract and initial results had been accepted as the basis of a full research project, and he would be doing rounds in the psych department during his research. Not as much fun as surgery, perhaps, but a good challenge for him.

Plus, if he were going into the black for any sort of long-term assignment, it would be a significant benefit for him to get a better grasp of the psychological issues that could plague starship personnel. And, of course, to help him get a better grasp of his own psychological issues.

On long nights, he had wondered why he'd gotten a doctorate in psych, only to avoid the topic like the plague. Maybe the answer was watching him from the other side of the mirror.

Either way, it had been a good and encouraging meeting with Doctor Swerdlow, and now, Leonard actually had the rest of the afternoon off.

He also had a text message waiting for him when he checked his comm.

_Bones, when you're done with your meeting, come find me on the quad, outside the Student Center. - Jim  
_  
Leonard rolled his eyes. Presumptuous kid, figuring he'd come right along... but Jim was right. He would.

The shuttle back to the main campus was almost empty - typical for a Saturday. In the relative silence of the shuttle cabin, Leonard sagged into his seat and took a few slow, deep breaths, letting his body relax from his head, through his shoulders, down to the core of his stomach. He was into his third repetition before he realized he'd started his pre-flight coping routine without even consciously deciding to do it. And it was working.

_Doctor, heal thyself_, he thought, but this time, with a touch of smugness. _  
_  
The shuttle took off, and he watched the water of the bay fly by underneath him. Nice day. Only a touch of fog. Chilly, yes, but it was November. The shuttle paralleled the Golden Gate Bridge just to the east of the old structure, then flew up and over the crest of the Presidio to touch down on the shuttle pad of the main campus. The hatch opened with a soft hiss, and Leonard walked out of the craft, pleased to discover that his legs weren't shaking.

Yeah, he could do this.

He began making his way past the admin buildings and a couple of the lecture halls towards the Student Center. As he approached, he could make out a small cluster of cadets, seated on a couple of benches just in front of the main entrance. Five of them, and from that distance, it looked like four humans and an Andorian.

Nova Squadron.

Leonard smiled as he got a little bit closer, and could hear the faint hints of what sounded like a very enthusiastic conversation. Jim's voice seemed to carry over all of them. He couldn't hear _what _was being said, but the tone was enough to let him know that Jim was okay. Happy.

And then the Andorian nudged Jim and pointed across the quad towards Leonard, and Jim looked up. Jim grinned and he held up a finger, clearly saying, _Just a minute_.

Leonard nodded and watched as the whole team got to their feet. Hugs and claps on shoulders were exchanged all around, and then Jim was jogging towards him down the path, grinning broadly.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Leonard said lightly as Jim came to an easy halt alongside him.

"Nah. Just had to share the news with my team."

"About your roommate, and Romano, and all that?"

To his surprise, Jim actually shook his head. "There's that, but... we're getting to keep our team, Bones!" He waved back at the rest of his flight team once, and then started walking down the path, indicating for Leonard to follow. They fell in step next to each other as Jim continued. "First five-man flight team in the Academy's history. We've got permission, and the squad was re-commissioned under that charter. We're going to make something special of it."

Jim's enthusiasm was infectious, and Leonard felt himself grinning, too. "Jim, if you're part of it, I'm sure it could be nothing less."

"No, Bones. Not like that." He glanced sideways at Leonard, his face suddenly serious. "It's not about me. Not this time."

Leonard looked back at him. There were so many things he could say, but at the moment, none of them were important. So, with a nod, he said, "Okay, kid. Okay."

"Good," Jim said with a decisive nod. "So...what's for lunch?"

With an easy laugh that he hadn't experienced in a long time, Leonard inclined his head. "Anything but Chinese?"

Jim chuckled. "Sounds fair. There's a Mediterranean place on the south end of town I'd been meaning to try."

"I could deal with that. Lead the way, Jim."

*.&.*


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes: **Final chapter, folks. Technically, this is more of an epilogue. Anyway, it's been a great ride. I'm working on finishing up the sequel to this one, and I should be ready to start posting it in a few weeks. For now, enjoy this story, and thank you for reading. If you've liked my writing, please take the time to let me know. Thanks!

*.&.*

"Hey Jim!"

It was 0500 hours, and with the help of two full canteens of very strong coffee, Leonard burst cheerfully into Jim's room, delighted with the prospect of finally getting his chance at payback. Granted, it was evil enough that they'd scheduled his flight test this early, but with his clinic schedule, it couldn't be avoided. Besides, it gave him the perfect excuse to awaken Jim Kirk at stupid-o'clock. It was something he'd been looking forward to doing for a long time. Injecting as much false, over-exaggerated cheer into his voice as possible, he rapped his knuckles on the wall. "Come on, Jim, rise'n'shine. Big day today! Lights."

The lights in Jim's dorm room came on to reveal... an empty bed. Leonard stopped short and frowned. The bed was slept in, unmade. A quick look around revealed that only one of Jim's two pairs of boots was sitting by the door, and his parka, which he often draped over the back of his chair, was also gone. The kid was nowhere to be found.

It was almost impossible to squash his own disappointment. Even if he hadn't been able to wake Jim up as unceremoniously as possible, he'd still wanted the kid to watch his flight test. They'd worked together on this for weeks. Sure, Jim had decided to put off his Assistant Flight Instructor test until the beginning of the spring semester, but he could have watched. He would have wanted to see it.

At least, Leonard was pretty sure Jim would have wanted to see it.

Other than their flight trainings together, he'd barely seen Jim over the last few weeks. Jim had been really busy with his flight team, and his accelerated course load was catching up with him. There hadn't been much free time. Of course, Leonard couldn't put all the blame for that on Jim. He'd been pretty busy, too.

Looking once more around the small, empty room, Leonard sighed and shook his head. "Lights off." Then he turned and walked out the door.

Outside Jim's dorm, the winds of mid-December were biting and cold in the pre-dawn hours. The skies were clear above him though, and the stars managed to pierce the haze of the city lights like small pinpricks of ice. He shrugged up the hood of his winter uniform parka and hurried off down the path towards the hangar.

The path wove through the old eucalyptus groves. Despite the bitter winds, even at this time of year, there was still the faint astringent smell of the eucalyptus leaves that blanketed the ground and rattled in the wind. It was oddly soothing. Enormously tall trees, with their smooth trunks, dwarfing everything around him. They muffled the wind, and made it feel like a world apart.

It only served to increase the odd, detached feeling that was starting to pervade Leonard's consciousness.

It was rough enough that he was on his way to his flight test. Yes, he was ready. No, he wasn't fractionally as terrified as he'd once been of flying. But this time, he was really in the hot seat. He'd known that he would be... but in his mind, whenever he'd imagined the day of his flight test, Jim was there to watch and cheer him on.

He sighed, breathing in the bitter chill and eucalyptus scent through his frost-nipped nose, then tucked his face deeper into his hood.

It wasn't so bad. He'd pass his test, send Jim a gloating '_look what I did_' message, and then they'd meet for dinner and drinks. It was a Friday. As far as he knew, Jim had the evening free. They hadn't had one of their Friday excursions in a few weeks - not since Jim had caught his roommate and everything had come crashing down and... yeah. That. So maybe it was high time they hit one of the local bars. Celebrate a bit.

The path opened up at the bottom of the hill, and the bright lights of the hangar greeted him. He swiped his ID badge at the security checkpoint, and hurried into the building. It wasn't as warm as the dorms or classroom buildings, but it was warm enough to take off the heavy parka. Folding it over his arm, he made his way across the plascrete floor, boots clacking heavy and hollow as he walked. He rounded the corner to the bay where they kept the trainee shuttles.

The course's flight instructor, Captain Sullivan, waved to him from beside the shuttlecraft that he'd be piloting shortly. Leonard had decided that he liked the guy. As the flight portion of the course had progressed, he'd shown a reliable measure of sympathy for the plight of the oldest and most phobic student in his class.

Leonard waved back and picked up to a light jog until he was in front of the Captain. "If I fail, sir," he said with a self-deprecating grin, "I'll blame it on the ungodly hour."

Captain Sullivan chuckled lightly. "I don't think you'll need that, McCoy. You've been doing just fine over the past few weeks. Lieutenant Scott reported that you excelled on the exam for the engineering portion of the class. And your last couple of flights went very well."

Leonard nodded, dropping his parka neatly on a bench by the wall. "That's reassuring to know." Seeing as Scott was supposed to be his in-flight evaluator today, it was good to know that he'd expressed his confidence to the Flight Instructor. "Is Lieutenant Scott already in the shuttle?"

An odd look crossed Captain Sullivan's face. "Actually, no."

Leonard came up short and frowned. "Is he on his way?" A quick glance over at the chrono confirmed that he'd arrived just on time. At this hour of the morning, it was fully possible that Scott was running late.

"Well, with the engine competition over, the transporter technology section of the engineering department has been taking up more of his time. He's actually taking an advanced theory class himself. Couple of big projects they're working on, and –" Sullivan laughed lightly. "The Lieutenant has some very interesting ideas about transporter technology. Don't know if they'll work, but he's gonna have fun trying."

Leonard couldn't help it – he shuddered. "Great. Transporters. The only thing in Starfleet worse than shuttles. Why anyone would want to have their molecules taken apart down to their energy patterns and beamed across the vacuum of space is beyond me."

"It's not so bad, McCoy. You seem to have conquered shuttle flight. I'm sure you'll do just fine with transporters."

Leonard grimaced. "One step at a time, sir." He sighed and shook his head. "So, if Lieutenant Scott isn't the instructor in the shuttle with me, are you going up?"

"No, McCoy. The head instructor always supervises and evaluates from the ground. But don't worry. We found a decent substitute."

"Oh?"

"New guy. Passed his Assistant Flight Instructor exam last week. But he's not bad."

Leonard couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes and barely held back the groan. "Great. Just what I need. He's probably younger than me, too, right?"

Captain Sullivan laughed. "Yep. One of those wet-behind-the-ears cadets you love to grumble about. But don't worry, you'll be fine."

"Whatever you say, sir. So where is he?"

"In the shuttle, actually," Sullivan said with a smile. "Got here before I did. The cadet seems to be really thorough. Insisted on doing a complete level three diagnostic before letting you go up."

At that, Leonard raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least he's not reckless." He tilted his head towards the shuttle hatch. "I guess there's no reason to delay any longer."

"None whatsoever. I'll head up to the control tower." He stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Cadet."

Leonard shook it briefly. "Thank you, sir."

Without any further hesitation, Captain Sullivan turned on his heel and strode off across the bay towards the turbolift to the control tower. Leonard watched him go for a moment before turning back to the shuttle's external controls. "Here goes nothing." He keyed in his entry code, and stood back as the hatch opened. Ducked his head, and climbed into the shuttlecraft.

"Bones!"

Leonard stopped short, one foot still outside the shuttlecraft. "What... what the... _Jim_?"

"Good to see you made it," Jim said with a wide grin. He was sitting in the copilot's spot, one arm looped over the back of the seat casually, as if there was no other place in the universe he could possibly be. "I was wondering if there was enough coffee on the planet to actually get you out of bed at this hour."

Slowly unfreezing himself, Leonard finished climbing into the shuttlecraft and sat down in the pilot's seat, not even trying to hide the look of unadulterated disbelief he was sure was smacked all over his face. "Yeah... I'm awake, but... Jim? How the hell did you do it? Why didn't you tell me?"

For a moment, Jim almost looked sheepish. "Doctor Rodriguez... he's a good guy, actually, Bones, so thank you for sending me to him... he said that he felt I was ready to test about a week ago, if I wanted to. He talked to Captain Tanner, and I tested on Monday. I didn't want to tell you in case I didn't make it. But..." His mouth twisted pensively. "I asked you once... not to go up into the black without me. But that's a promise I made to you, too. That I'd be here for you. I had to do it."

"You did it, Jim," Leonard said, almost reverently. "You really did."

His grin returned. "I did, didn't I? And when I passed, I decided that I wanted to surprise you."

"I'm surprised," Leonard replied, still feeling somewhat gobsmacked. "I'm definitely surprised."

"Pleased, I hope?"

There was a hint of vulnerability in that question. Almost anyone else would have missed it, but Leonard knew better. "Yeah, kid. I'm pleased. I'm proud of you, too. I really am."

Jim's face lit up. "Thanks, Bones." Then his grin took on a devious quality. "But how about you make me proud now, huh? Ready to fly, old man?"

"I'll old-man you, you cheeky brat," Leonard grumbled, reaching over to the console and initiating the basic system's check.

"Hey, no name-calling the instructor," Jim said with a wink as he pulled his harness over his head.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, and you know it." He looked over at Jim, who was double-checking the fastenings on his harness.

So much had changed since the shuttle crash. This was a more subdued, more cautious, more thoughtful Jim than he'd known at the beginning of the year. This was also a Jim who had learned patience on some new level. But at the end of the day, he was still Jim Kirk, with the mischievous streak that couldn't be stopped, and the brains to back up his seemingly wild and reckless antics. And despite the fact that Leonard knew it was going to give him a few more gray hairs than he'd have otherwise, it was good to have the kid around.

"Hey, Bones? Are you okay?"

Leonard shook his head, clearing it. "What? Yeah, kid. Why?"

"You were staring."

"Just thinking, Jim." He let himself smile.

"Well, save your thinking for the flying. Captain Sullivan just transmitted your flight plan." He grinned slyly. "I'd say 'good luck,' but who needs luck when you've got me?"

Leonard snorted. "Arrogant egomaniac."

"There you go with the name-calling again. I'm gonna start docking points, and we haven't even powered up the engines."

"And a reckless space-cowboy, too."

Jim laughed. "Don't you know it. But for now, we've got a mission." He reached over and clapped Leonard just a touch too hard on the shoulder. "Come on, Bones. Buckle up!"

Leonard rolled his eyes and fastened his harness.

As the engines surged to life underneath him and control panels began processing his commands, he felt something he'd never felt in a shuttlecraft before – anticipation. Almost excitement. He was almost looking forward to watching the Earth drop away from him, witnessing the blackness as the atmosphere thinned, watching the sun break over the horizon as he completed his orbit of the planet. It was an alien sensation, to feel anything other than nervousness at best, terror at worst, in light of an impending flight. But this was different.

Glancing to the side, he looked at Jim's determined profile as the kid cross-checked and verified his work. This was a person he trusted with his life, and who trusted him in return. He'd go anywhere with the kid. And as he'd promised, he wouldn't go anywhere without Jim, either. Yeah, this was different.

And different was good.

"Cross-checks complete," Leonard said. "All systems ready."

"Confirmed. All systems ready." Jim looked at him, eyes shining with excitement. "Let's take her up."

~FIN~

*.&.*


End file.
